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PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 


•  ip.v  ii,  m.  OaldwaU 

up    under    the    grating  and  whispered  — « I 

•mi   here.'" 


Ulaht  Stales  from  Hje  iiUls 


Wt)t  OTorha  of 

^ubparb  litplmg 


ftubltefjeb  fap 

GWie  Greenock  $resa 


Boston 


Mtto  govk 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

LlSPETH 7 

Three  and — an  Extra         .         .         .         .19 

Thrown  Away 29 

Miss  Youghal's  Sais 45 

"Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever"  .         .         •  57 

False  Dawn 67 

The  Rescue  of  Pluffles     ....  83 

Cupid's  Arrows 95 

His  Chance  in  Life 105 

Watches  of  the  Night        .         .        .         •  JI7 

The  Other  Man 129 

Consequences 137 

The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin    .  149 

A  Germ-Destroyer 159 

Kidnapped i69 

The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly       .  179 

In  the  House  of  Suddhoo  ....  191 

His  Wedded  Wife 207 

The  Broken-Link  Handicap         .         .         .219 
Beyond  the  Pale         .         .         .         •         .231 

In  Error 243 


Contents 


A  Bank  Fraud     .... 

Tods'  Amendment 

In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 

Pig 

The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

The  Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case 

Venus  Annodomini 

The  Bisara  of  Pooree 

A  Friend's  Friend 

The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows 

The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din     . 

On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness 

Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office 

By  Word  of  Mouth     . 

To  be  Filed  for  Reference 

The  Last  Relief 
Bitters  Neat 
Haunted  Subalterns  . 


253 
267 

279 

291 

3°5 
323 
335 
345 
357 
369 
3&3 
391 
403 
415 
425 
441 

455 
465 


USPETH 


/ 


LISPETH 

Look,  you  have  cast  out  Love  !     What  Gods  are  these 

You  bid  me  please  ? 
The  Three  in  One,  the  One  in  Three  ?     Not  so ! 

To  my  own  Gods  I  go. 
It  may  be  they  shall  give  me  greater  ease 
Than  your  cold  Christ  and  tangled  Trinities. 

•  — The  Convert. 

SHE  was  the  daughter  of  Sonoo,  a  Hill-man  of 
the  Himalayas,  and  Jadeh  his  wife.  One 
year  their  maize  failed,  and  two  bears  spent  the 
night  in  their  only  opium  poppy-field  just  above 
the  Sutlej  Valley  on  the  Kotgarh  side;  so,  next 
season,  they  turned  Christian,  and  brought  their 
baby  to  the  Mission  to  be  baptized.  The  Kot- 
garh Chaplain  christened  her  Elizabeth,  and  "  Lis- 
peth  "  is  the  Hill  or  pahari  pronunciation. 

Later,  cholera  came  into  the  Kotgarh  Valley 
and  carried  off  Sonoo  and  Jadeh,  and  Lispeth  be- 
came half  servant,  half  companion,  to  the  wife 
of  the  then  Chaplain  of  Kotgarh.  This  was  after 
the  reign  of  the  Moravian  missionaries  in  that 
place,  but  before  Kotgarh  had  quite  forgotten 
her  title  of  "  Mistress  of  the  Northern  Hills." 

Whether  Christianity  improved  Lispeth,  or 
whether   the   gods   of   her   own   people  would 

9 


io  Lispeth 

have  done  as  much  for  her  under  any  circum- 
stances, I  do  not  know;  but  she  grew  very 
lovely.  When  a  Hill-girl  grows  lovely  she  is 
worth  traveling  fifty  miles  over  bad  ground  to 
look  upon.  Lispeth  had  a  Greek  face — one  of 
those  faces  people  paint  so  often,  and  see  so  sel- 
dom. She  was  of  a  pale,  ivory  color,  and,  for  her 
race,  extremely  tall.  Also,  she  possessed  eyes 
that  were  wonderful;  and,  had  she  not  been 
dressed  in  the  abominable  print-clofhs  affected 
by  Missions,  you  would,  meeting  her  on  the  hill- 
side unexpectedly,  have  thought  her  the  original 
Diana  of  the  Romans  going  out  to  slay. 

Lispeth  took  to  Christianity  readily,  and  did 
not  abandon  it  when  she  reached  womanhood, 
as  do  some  Hill-girls.  Her  own  people  hated 
her  because  she  had,  they  said,  become  a  white 
woman  and  washed  herself  daily;  and  the  Chap- 
lain's wife  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her. 
One  cannot  ask  a  stately  goddess,  five  foot  ten 
in  her  shoes,  to  clean  plates  and  dishes.  She 
played  with  the  Chaplain's  children  and  took 
classes  in  the  Sunday-School,  and  read  all  the 
books  in  the  house,  and  grew  more  and  more 
beautiful,  like  the  Princesses  in  fairy  tales.  The 
Chaplain's  wife  said  that  the  girl  ought  to  take 
service  in  Simla  as  a  nurse  or  something  "gen- 
teel." But  Lispeth  did  not  want  to  take  service. 
She  was  very  happy  where  she  was. 


Lispeth  1 1 

When  travelers — there  were  not  many  in  those 
years — came  in  to  Kotgarh.  Lispeth  used  to  lock 
herself  into  her  own  room  for  fear  they  might 
take  her  away  to  Simla,  or  out  into  the  unknown 
world. 

One  day,  a  few  months  after  she  was  seven- 
teen years  old,  Lispeth  went  out  for  a  walk. 
She  did  not  walk  in  the  manner  of  English  ladies 
— a  mile  and  a  half  out,  with  a  carriage-ride  back 
again.  She  covered  between  twenty  and  thirty 
miles  in  her  little  constitutionals,  all  about  and 
about,  between  Kotgarh  and  Narkunda.  This 
time  she  came  back  at  full  dusk,  stepping  down 
the  breakneck  descent  into  Kotgarh  with  some- 
thing heavy  in  her  arms.  The  Chaplain's  wife 
was  dozing  in  the  drawing-room  when  Lispeth 
came  in  breathing  heavily  and  very  exhausted 
with  her  burden.  Lispeth  put  it  down  on  the 
sofa,  and  said  simply,  "This  is  my  husband.  I 
found  him  on  the  Bagi  Road.  He  has  hurt  him- 
self. We  will  nurse  him,  and  when  he  is  well, 
your  husband  shall  marry  him  to  me." 

This  was  the  first  mention  Lispeth  had  ever 
made  of  her  matrimonial  views,  and  the  Chap- 
lain's wife  shrieked  with  horror.  However,  the 
man  on  the  sofa  needed  attention  first.  He  was 
a  young  Englishman,  and  his  head  had  been  cut 
to  the  bone  by  something  jagged.  Lispeth  said 
she  had  found  him  down  the  hillside,  and  had 


13  Lispeth 

brought  him  in.  He  was  breathing  queerly  and 
was  unconscious. 

He  was  put  to  bed  and  tended  by  the  Chap- 
lain, who  knew  something  of  medicine;  and 
Lispeth  waited  outside  the  door  in  case  she  could 
be  useful.  She  explained  to  the  Chaplain  that 
this  was  the  man  she  meant  to  marry;  and  the 
Chaplain  and  his  wife  lectured  her  severely  on 
the  impropriety  of  her  conduct.  Lispeth  listened 
quietly,  and  repeated  her  first  proposition.  It 
takes  a  great  deal  of  Christianity  to  wipe  out  un- 
civilized Eastern  instincts,  such  as  falling  in  love 
at  first  sight.  Lispeth,  having  found  the  man 
she  worshipped,  did  not  see  why  she  should 
keep  silent  as  to  her  choice.  She  had  no  inten- 
tion of  being  sent  away,  either.  She  was  go- 
ing to  nurse  that  Englishman  until  he  was  well 
enough  to  marry  her.     This  was  her  programme. 

After  a  fortnight  of  slight  fever  and  inflamma- 
tion, the  Englishman  recovered  coherence  and 
thanked  the  Chaplain  and  his  wife,  and  Lispeth 
— especially  Lispeth — for  their  kindness.  He 
was  a  traveler  in  the  Hast,  he  said — they  never 
talked  about  "globe-trotters"  in  those  days, 
when  the  P.  &  O.  fleet  was  young  and  small 
— and  had  come  from  Dehra  Dun  to  hunt  for 
plants  and  butterflies  among  the  Simla  hills.  No 
one  at  Simla,  therefore,  knew  anything  about 
him.     He  fancied  that  he  must  have  fallen  over 


Lispeth  13 

the  cliff  while  reaching  out  for  a  fern  on  a  rotten 
tree-trunk,  and  that  his  coolies  must  have  stolen 
his  baggage  and  fled.  He  thought  he  would  go 
back  to  Simla  when  he  was  a  little  stronger.  He 
desired  no  more  mountaineering. 

He  made  small  haste  to  go  away,  and  recov- 
ered his  strength  slowly.  Lispeth  objected  to 
being  advised  either  by  the  Chaplain  or  his  wife; 
therefore  the  latter  spoke  to  the  Englishman,  and 
told  him  how  matters  stood  in  Lispeth's  heart. 
He  laughed  a  good  deal,  and  said  it  was  very 
pretty  and  romantic,  but,  as  he  was  engaged  to 
a  girl  at  Home,  he  fancied  that  nothing  would 
happen.  Certainly  he  would  behave  with  dis- 
cretion. He  did  that.  Still  he  found  it  very 
pleasant  to  talk  to  Lispeth,  and  walk  with  Lis- 
peth, and  say  nice  things  to  her,  and  call  her  pet 
names  while  he  was  getting  strong  enough  to 
go  away.  It  meant  nothing  at  all  to  him,  and 
everything  in  the  world  to  Lispeth.  She  was 
very  happy  while  the  fortnight  lasted,  because 
she  had  found  a  man  to  love. 

Being  a  savage  by  birth,  she  took  no  trouble 
to  hide  her  feelings,  and  the  Englishman  was 
amused.  When  he  went  away,  Lispeth  walked 
with  him  up  the  Hill  as  far  as  Narkunda,  very 
troubled  and  very  miserable.  The  Chaplain's 
wife,  being  a  good  Christian  and  disliking  any- 
thing in  the  shape  of  fuss  or  scandal — Lispeth 


14  Lispeth 

was  beyond  her  management  entirely — had  told 
the  Englishman  to  tell  Lispeth  that  he  was  com- 
ing back  to  marry  her.  "  She  is  but  a  child  you 
know,  and,  I  fear,  at  heart  a  heathen,"  said  the 
Chaplain's  wife.  So  all  the  twelve  miles  up  the 
Hill  the  Englishman,  with  his  arm  round  Lis- 
peth's  waist,  was  assuring  the  girl  that  he  would 
come  back  and  marry  her;  and  Lispeth  made 
him  promise  over  and  over  again.  She  wept  on 
the  Narkunda  Ridge  till  he  had  passed  out  of  sight 
along  the  Muttiani  path. 

Then  she  dried  her  tears  and  went  into  Kot- 
garh  again,  and  said  to  the  Chaplain's  wife,  "  He 
will  come  back  and  marry  me.  He  has  gone  to 
his  own  people  to  tell  them  so."  And  the  Chap- 
lain's wife  soothed  Lispeth  and  said,  "He  will 
come  back."  At  the  end  of  two  months,  Lis- 
peth grew  impatient,  and  was  told  that  the  Eng- 
lishman had  gone  over  the  seas  to  England.  She 
knew  where  England  was,  because  she  had  read 
little  geography  primers;  but,  of  course,  she  had 
no  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  sea,  being  a 
Hill-girl.  There  was  an  old  puzzle-map  of  the 
World  in  the  house.  Lispeth  had  played  with  it 
when  she  was  a  child.  She  unearthed  it  again, 
and  put  it  together  of  evenings,  and  cried  to  her- 
self, and  tried  to  imagine  where  her  Englishman 
was.  As  she  had  no  ideas  of  distance  or  steam- 
boats, her  notions  were  somewhat  wild.    It  would 


Lispeth  15 

not  have  made  the  least  difference  had  she  been 
perfectly  correct;  for  the  Englishman  had  no  in- 
tention of  coming  back  to  marry  a  Hill-girl.  He 
forgot  all  about  her  by  the  time  he  was  butterfly- 
hunting  in  Assam.  He  wrote  a  book  on  the 
East  afterward.  Lispeth's  name  did  not  appear 
there. 

At  the  end  of  three  months  Lispeth  made 
daily  pilgrimage  to  Narkunda  to  see  if  her  Eng- 
lishman was  coming  along  the  road.  It  gave  her 
comfort,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife  finding  her 
happier  thought  that  she  was  getting  over  her 
"barbarous  and  most  indelicate  folly."  A  little 
later,  the  walks  ceased  to  help  Lispeth  and  her 
temper  grew  very  bad.  The  Chaplain's  wife 
thought  this  a  profitable  time  to  let  her  know 
the  real  state  of  affairs — that  the  Englishman  had 
only  promised  his  love  to  keep  her  quiet — that 
he  had  never  meant  anything,  and  that  it  was 
wrong  and  improper  of  Lispeth  to  think  of  mar- 
riage with  an  Englishman,  who  was  of  a  superior 
clay,  besides  being  promised  in  marriage  to  a 
girl  of  his  own  people.  Lispeth  said  that  all  this 
was  clearly  impossible  because  he  had  said  he 
loved  her,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife  had,  with  her 
own  lips,  asserted  that  the  Englishman  was  com- 
ing back. 

"  How  can  what  he  and  you  said  be  untrue?" 
asked  Lispeth. 


10  Lispeth 

"  We  said  it  as  an  excuse  to  keep  you  quiet, 
child,"  said  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

"Then  you  have  lied  to  me,'*  said  Lispeth, 
"you  and  he  ?" 

The  Chaplain's  wife  bowed  her  head,  and  said 
nothing.  Lispeth  was  silent,  too,  for  a  little 
tune;  then  she  went  out  down  the  valley,  and 
returned  in  the  dress  of  a  Hill-girl — infamously 
dirty,  but  without  the  nose-stud  and  earrings. 
She  had  her  hair  braided  into  the  long  pigtail, 
helped  out  with  black  thread,  that  Hill-women 
wear. 

"I  am  going  back  to  my  own  people,"  said 
she.  "You  have  killed  Lispeth.  There  is  only 
left  old  Jadeh's  daughter — the  daughter  of  a  pa- 
hart  and  the  servant  of  Tarka  Devi.  You  are 
all  liars,  you  English." 

By  the  time  that  the  Chaplain's  wife  had  re- 
covered from  the  shock  of  the  announcement 
that  Lispeth  had  'verted  to  her  mother's  gods, 
the  girl  had  gone;  and  she  never  came  back. 

She  took  to  her  own  unclean  people  savagely, 
as  if  to  make  up  the  arrears  of  the  life  she  had 
stepped  out  of;  and,  in  a  little  time,  she  married 
a  woodcutter  who  beat  her  after  the  manner  of 
paharis,  and  her  beauty  faded  soon. 

"There  is  no  law  whereby  you  can  account 
for  the  vagaries  of  the  heathen,"  said  the  Chap- 
lain's wife,  "and   1   believe  that  Lispeth  was  al- 


Lispeth  1 7 

ways  at  heart  an  infidel."  Seeing  she  had  been 
taken  into  the  Church  of  England  at  the  mature 
age  of  five  weeks,  this  statement  does  not  do 
credit  to  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

Lispeth  was  a  very  old  woman  when  she  died. 
She  had  always  a  perfect  command  of  English, 
and  when  she  was  sufficiently  drunk,  could 
sometimes  be  induced  to  tell  the  story  of  her 
first  love-affair. 

It  was  hard  then  to  realize  that  the  bleared, 
wrinkled  creature,  exactly  like  a  wisp  of  charred 
rag,  could  ever  have  been  "  Lispeth  of  the  Kot- 
garh  Mission." 


THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA 


THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA 

When  halter  and  heel-ropes   are  slipped,  do  not  give  chase 
with  sticks  but  with  gram. — Punjabi  Proverb. 

AFTER  marriage  arrives  a  reaction,  sometimes 
a  big,  sometimes  a  little  one;  but  it  comes 
sooner  or  later,  and  must  be  tided  over  by  both 
parties  if  they  desire  the  rest  of  their  lives  to  go 
with  the  current. 

In  the  case  of  the  Cusack-Bremmils  this  reac- 
tion did  not  set  in  till  the  third  year  after  the 
wedding.  Bremmil  was  hard  to  hold  at  the  best 
of  times;  but  he  was  a  beautiful  husband  until 
the  baby  died  and  Mrs.  Bremmil  wore  black,  and 
grew  thin,  and  mourned  as  though  the  bottom 
of  the  Universe  had  fallen  out.  Perhaps  Brem- 
mil ought  to  have  comforted  her.  He  tried  to 
do  so,  but  the  more  he  comforted  the  more  Mrs. 
Bremmil  grieved,  and,  consequently,  the  more 
uncomfortable  grew  Bremmil.  The  fact  was 
that  they  both  needed  a  tonic.  And  they  got  it. 
Mrs.  Bremmil  can  afford  to  laugh  now,  but  it 
was  no  laughing  matter  to  her  at  the  time. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  appeared  on  the  horizon;  and 
where  she  existed  was  fair  chance  of  trouble. 
At  Simla  her  by-name  was  the  "Stormy  Petrel." 

21 


22  Three  and — <in  Extra 

She  had  won  that  title  five  times  to  my  own  cer- 
tain knowledge.  She  was  a  little,  brown,  thin, 
almost  skinny,  woman,  with  big,  rolling,  violet- 
blue  eyes,  and  the  sweetest  manners  in  the 
world.  You  had  only  to  mention  her  name  at 
afternoon  teas  for  every  woman  in  the  room 
to  rise  up,  and  call  her  not  blessed.  She  was 
clever,  witty,  brilliant,  and  sparkling  beyond 
most  of  her  kind;  but  possessed  of  many  devils 
of  malice  and  mischievousness.  She  could  be 
nice,  though,  even  to  her  own  sex.  But  that  is 
another  story. 

Bremmil  went  off  at  score  after  the  baby's 
death  and  the  general  discomfort  that  followed, 
and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  annexed  him.  She  took  no 
pleasure  in  hiding  her  captives.  She  annexed  him 
publicly,  and  saw  that  the  public  saw  it.  He 
rode  with  her,  and  walked  with  her,  and  talked 
with  her,  and  picnicked  with  her,  and  tiffined  at 
Peliti's  with  her,  till  people  put  up  their  eyebrows 
and  said,  "Shocking!"  Mrs.  Bremmil  stayed  at 
home  turning  over  the  dead  baby's  frocks  and 
crying  into  the  emptv  cradle.  She  did  not  care 
to  do  anything  else.  But  some  eight  dear,  affec- 
tionate lady-friends  explained  the  situation  at 
length  to  her  in  case  she  should  miss  the  cream 
of  it.  Mrs.  Bremmil  listened  quietly,  and  thanked 
them  for  their  good  offices.  She  was  not  as 
clever  as  Mrs.   Hauksbee,  but  she  was  no  fool. 


Three  and — an  Extra  23 

She  kept  her  own  counsel,  and  did  not  speak  to 
Bremmil  of  what  she  had  heard.  This  is  worth 
remembering.  Speaking  to,  or  crying  over,  a 
husband  never  did  any  good  yet. 

When  Bremmil  was  at  home,  which  was  not 
often,  he  was  more  affectionate  than  usual;  and 
that  showed  his  hand.  The  affection  was  forced 
partly  to  soothe  his  own  conscience  and  partly 
to  soothe  Mrs.  Bremmil.  It  failed  in  both  re- 
gards. 

Then  "the  A.-D.-C.  in  Waiting  was  com- 
manded by  Their  Excellencies,  Lord  and  Lady 
Lytton,  to  invite  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil 
to  Peterhoff  on  July  26  at  9:30  p.  m." — "Danc- 
ing "  in  the  bottom-left-hand  corner. 

"  I  can't  go,"  said  Mrs.  Bremmil,  "  it  is  too  soon 
after  poor  little  Florrie  .  .  .  but  it  need  not 
stop  you,  Tom." 

She  meant  what  she  said  then,  and  Bremmil 
said  that  he  would  go  just  to  put  in  an  appearance. 
Here  he  spoke  the  thing  which  was  not;  and  Mrs. 
Bremmil  knew  it.  She  guessed — a  woman's 
guess  is  much  more  accurate  than  a  man's  cer- 
tainty— that  he  had  meant  to  go  from  the  first, 
and  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  sat  down  to  think, 
and  the  outcome  of  her  thoughts  was  that  the 
memory  of  a  dead  child  was  worth  considerably 
less  than  the  affections  of  a  living  husband.  She 
made  her  plan  and  staked  her  all  upon  it.    In  that 


24  Three  and — an  Extra 

hour  she  discovered  that  she  knew  Tom  Bremmil 
thoroughly,  and  this  knowledge  she  acted  on. 

"Tom,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  be  dining  out  at  the 
Longmores'  on  the  evening  of  the  26th.  You'd 
better  dine  at  the  Club." 

This  saved  Bremmil  from  making  an  excuse  to 
get  away  and  dine  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  so  he 
was  grateful,  and  felt  small  and  mean  at  the  same 
time — which  was  wholesome.  Bremmil  left  the 
house  at  five  for  a  ride.  About  half-past  five  in 
the  evening  a  large  leather-covered  basket  came 
in  from  Phelps's  for  Mrs.  Bremmil.  She  was  a 
woman  who  knew  how  to  dress;  and  she  had 
not  spent  a  week  on  designing  that  dress  and 
having  it  gored,  and  hemmed,  and  herring-boned, 
and  tucked  and  rucked  (or  whatever  the  terms 
are),  for  nothing.  It  was  a  gorgeous  dress — 
slight  mourning.  I  can't  describe  it,  but  it  was 
what  The  Queen  calls  "  a  creation  " — a  thing  that 
hit  you  straight  between  the  eyes  and  made  you 
gasp.  She  had  not  much  heart  for  what  she  was 
going  to  do;  but  as  she  glanced  at  the  long  mir- 
ror she  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  she 
had  never  looked  so  well  in  her  life.  She  was  a 
large  blonde,  and,  when  she  chose,  carried  herself 
superbly. 

After  the  dinner  at  the  Longmores',  she  went 
on  to  the  dance — a  little  late — and  encountered 
Bremmil  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee  on  his  arm.     That 


Three  and — an  Extra  25 

made  her  flush,  and  as  the  men  crowded  round 
her  for  dances  she  looked  magnificent.  She  filled 
up  all  her  dances  except  three,  and  those  she  left 
blank.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  caught  her  eye  once;  and 
she  knew  it  was  war — real  war — between  them. 
She  started  handicapped  in  the  struggle,  for  she 
had  ordered  Bremmil  about  just  the  least  little  bit 
in  the  world  too  much;  and  he  was  beginning  to 
resent  it.  Moreover,  he  had  never  seen  his  wife 
look  so  lovely.  He  stared  at  her  from  doorways, 
and  glared  at  her  from  passages  as  she  went 
about  with  her  partners;  and  the  more  he  stared, 
the  more  taken  was  he.  He  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve that  this  was  the  woman  with  the  red  eyes 
and  the  black  stuff  gown  who  used  to  weep  over 
the  eggs  at  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  her  best  to  hold  him  in  play, 
but,  after  two  dances,  he  crossed  over  to  his 
wife  and  asked  for  a  dance. 

"I'm  afraid  you've  come  too  late,  Mister 
Bremmil,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  twinkling. 

Then  he  begged  her  to  give  him  a  dance,  and, 
as  a  great  favor,  she  allowed  him  the  fifth  waltz. 
Luckily  Five  stood  vacant  on  his  programme. 
They  danced  it  together,  and  there  was  a  little 
flutter  round  the  room.  Bremmil  had  a  sort  of  a 
notion  that  his  wife  could  dance,  but  he  never 
knew  she  danced  so  divinely.  At  the  end  of  that 
waltz  he  asked  for  another — as  a  favor,  not  as  a 


36  Three  and — an  Extra 

right;  and  Mrs.  Bremmil  said,  "Show  me  your 
programme,  dear!  "  He  showed  it  as  a  naughty 
little  schoolboy  hands  up  contraband  sweets  to  a 
master.  There  was  a  fairsprinklingo!  ,H"on 
it,  besides  "  H  "  at  supper.  Mrs.  Bremmil  said 
nothing,  but  she  smiled  contemptuously,  ran  her 
pencil  through  Seven  and  Nine — two  "  H's  " — 
and  returned  the  card  with  her  own  name  written 
above — a  pet  name  that  only  she  and  her  husband 
used.  Then  she  shook  her  finger  at  him,  and 
said  laughing,  "Oh  you  silly,  silly  boy!" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  heard  that,  and — she  owned  as 
much — felt  she  had  the  worst  of  it.  Bremmil  ac- 
cepted Seven  and  Nine  gratefully.  They  danced 
Seven,  and  sat  out  Nine  in  one  of  the  little  tents. 
What  Bremmil  said  and  what  Mrs.  Bremmil  did 
is  no  concern  of  any  one. 

When  the  band  struck  up  "The  Roast  Beef  of 
Old  England,"  the  two  went  out  into  the  ve- 
randah, and  Bremmil  began  looking  for  his  wife's 
dandy  (this  was  before  'rickshaw  days)  while  she 
went  into  the  cloak-room.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  came 
up  and  said,  "  You  take  me  in  to  supper,  I  think, 
Mr.  Bremmil?"  Bremmil  turned  red  and  looked 
foolish,  "Ah — h'm!  I'm  going  home  with  my 
wife,  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  I  think  there  has  been  a 
little  mistake."  Being  a  man.  he  spoke  as  though 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  were  entirely  responsible. 

Mrs.  Bremmil  came  out  of  the  cloak-room  in  a 


Three  and — an  Extra  27 

swansdown  cloak  with  a  white  "cloud"  round 
her  head.  She  looked  radiant;  and  she  had  a 
right  to. 

The  couple  went  off  into  the  darkness  together, 
Bremmil  riding  very  close  to  the  dandy. 

Then  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  me — she  looked  a 
trifle  faded  and  jaded  in  the  lamplight — "Take 
my  word  for  it,  the  silliest  woman  can  manage  a 
clever  man;  but  it  needs  a  very  clever  woman  to 
manage  a  fool." 

Then  we  went  in  to  supper. 


THROWN  AWAY 


THROWN  AWAY 

And  some  are  sulky,  while  some  will  plunge. 

[So  ho  !  Steady  !  Stand  still,  you  /] 
Some  you  must  gentle,  and  some  you  must  lunge. 

[There  !     There  !     Who  wants  to  kill  you  ?\ 
Some — there  are  losses  in  every  trade  — 
Will  break  their  hearts  ere  bitted  and  made, 
Will  fight  like  fiends  as  the  rope  cuts  hard, 
And  die  dumb-mad  in  the  breaking-yard. 

—  Toohmgala  Stockyard  Chorus, 

TO  rear  a  boy  under  what  parents  call  the 
"sheltered  life  system  "  is,  if  the  boy  must 
go  into  the  world  and  fend  for  himself,  not  wise. 
Unless  he  be  one  in  a  thousand  he  has  certainly 
to  pass  through  many  unnecessary  troubles;  and 
may,  possibly,  come  to  extreme  grief  simply 
from  ignorance  of  the  proper  proportions  of 
things. 

Let  a  puppy  eat  the  soap  in  the  bath-room  or 
chew  a  newly-blacked  boot.  He  chews  and 
chuckles  until,  by  and  by,  he  finds  out  that  black- 
ing and  Old  Brown  Windsor  make  him  very 
sick;  so  he  argues  that  soap  and  boots  are  not 
wholesome.  Any  old  dog  about  the  house  will 
soon  show  him  the  unwisdom  of  biting  big  dogs' 
ears.     Being  young,    he   remembers    and    goes 

31 


32  Thrown  Away 

abroad,  at  six  months,  a  well-mannered  little 
beast  with  a  chastened  appetite.  If  he  had  been 
kept  away  from  boots,  and  soap,  and  big  dogs 
till  he  came  to  the  trinity  full-grown  and  with 
developed  teeth,  consider  how  fearfully  sick  and 
thrashed  he  would  be!  Apply  that  notion  to  the 
"sheltered  life,"  and  see  how  it  works.  It  does 
not  sound  pretty,  but  it  is  the  better  of  two 
evils. 

There  was  a  Boy  once  who  had  been  brought 
up  under  the  "sheltered  life"  theory;  and  the 
theory  killed  him  dead.  He  stayed  with  his  peo- 
ple all  his  days,  from  the  hour  he  was  born  till 
the  hour  he  went  into  Sandhurst  nearly  at  the  top 
of  the  list.  He  was  beautifully  taught  in  all  that 
wins  marks  by  a  private  tutor,  and  carried  the 
extra  weight  of  "  never  having  given  his  parents 
an  hour's  anxiety  in  his  life."  What  he  learned 
at  Sandhurst  beyond  the  regular  routine  is  of  no 
great  consequence.  He  looked  about  him,  and  he 
found  soap  and  blacking,  so  to  speak,  very  good. 
He  ate  a  little,  and  came  out  of  Sandhurst  not  so 
high  as  he  went  in.  Then  there  was  an  interval 
and  a  scene  with  his  people,  who  expected  much 
from  him.  Next  a  year  of  living  unspotted  from 
the  world  in  a  third-rate  dep6t  battalion  where 
all  the  juniors  were  children  and  all  the  seniors 
old  women;  and  lastly  he  came  out  to  India 
where  he  was  cut  off  from  the  support  of  his 


Thrown  Away  33 

parents,  and  had  no  one  to  fall  back  on  in  time  of 
trouble  except  himself. 

Now  India  is  a  place  beyond  all  others  where 
one  must  not  take  things  too  seriously — the  mid- 
day sun  always  excepted.  Too  much  work  and 
too  much  energy  kill  a  man  just  as  effectively  as 
too  much  assorted  vice  or  too  much  drink.  Flir- 
tation does  not  matter,  because  every  one  is  being 
transferred  and  either  you  or  she  leave  the  Sta- 
tion, and  never  return.  Good  work  does  not 
matter,  because  a  man  is  judged  by  his  worst 
output  and  another  man  takes  all  the  credit  of 
his  best  as  a  rule.  Bad  work  does  not  matter, 
because  other  men  do  worse  and  incompetents 
hang  on  longer  in  India  than  anywhere  else. 
Amusements  do  not  matter,  because  you  must 
repeat  them  as  soon  as  you  have  accomplished 
them  once,  and  most  amusements  only  mean  try- 
ing to  win  another  person's  money.  Sickness 
does  not  matter,  because  it's  all  in  the  day's 
work,  and  if  you  die,  another  man  takes  over 
your  place  and  your  office  in  the  eight  hours  be- 
tween death  and  burial.  Nothing  matters  except 
Home-furlough  and  acting  allowances,  and  these 
only  because  they  are  scarce.  It  is  a  slack  coun- 
try where  all  men  work  with  imperfect  instru- 
ments; and  the  wisest  thing  is  to  escape  as  soon 
as  ever  you  can  to  some  place  where  amusement 
is  amusement  and  a  reputation  worth  the  having. 


34  Thrown  Away 

But  this  Boy — the  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Hills — 
came  out,  and  took  all  things  seriously.  He  was 
pretty  and  was  petted.  He  took  the  pettings 
seriously  and  fretted  over  women  not  worth  sad- 
dling a  pony  to  call  upon.  He  found  his  new 
free  life  in  India  very  good.  It  does  look  attrac- 
tive in  the  beginning,  from  a  subaltern's  point  of 
view — all  ponies,  partners,  dancing,  and  so  on. 
He  tasted  it  as  the  puppy  tastes  the  soap.  Only 
he  came  late  to  the  eating,  with  a  grown  set  of 
teeth.  He  had  no  sense  of  balance — just  like  the 
puppy — and  could  not  understand  why  he  was 
not  treated  with  the  consideration  he  received 
under  his  father's  roof.     This  hurt  his  feelings. 

He  quarreled  with  other  boys  and,  being  sensi- 
tive to  the  marrow,  remembered  these  quarrels, 
and  they  excited  him.  He  found  whist,  and 
gymkhanas,  and  things  of  that  kind  (meant  to 
amuse  one  after  office)  good;  but  he  took  them 
seriously  too,  just  as  seriously  as  he  took  the 
"head''  that  followed  after  drink.  He  lost  his 
money  over  whist  and  gymkhanas  because  they 
were  new  to  him. 

He  took  his  losses  seriously,  and  wasted  as 
much  energy  and  interest  over  a  two-goldmohur 
race  for  maiden  ekka- ponies  with  their  manes 
hogged,  as  if  it  had  been  the  Derby.  One  half 
of  this  came  from  inexperience — much  as  the 
puppy  squabbles  with  the  corner  of  the  hearth- 


Thrown  Away  35 

rug — and  the  other  half  from  the  dizziness  bred 
by  stumbling  out  of  his  quiet  life  into  the  glare 
and  excitement  of  a  livelier  one.  No  one  told 
him  about  the  soap  and  the  blacking,  because  an 
average  man  takes  it  for  granted  that  an  average 
man  is  ordinarily  careful  in  regard  to  them.  It 
was  pitiful  to  watch  The  Boy  knocking  himself 
to  pieces,  as  an  over-handled  colt  falls  down  and 
cuts  himself  when  he  gets  away  from  the  groom. 
This  unbridled  license  in  amusements  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  breaking  line  for,  much  less 
rioting  over,  endured  for  six  months — all  through 
one  cold  weather — and  then  we  thought  that  the 
heat  and  the  knowledge  of  having  lost  his  money 
and  health  and  lamed  his  horses  would  sober  The 
Boy  down,  and  he  would  stand  steady.  In 
ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  this  would 
have  happened.  You  can  see  the  principle  work- 
ing in  any  Indian  Station.  But  this  particular 
case  fell  through  because  The  Boy  was  sensitive 
and  took  things  seriously — as  I  may  have  said 
some  seven  times  before.  Of  course,  we  could 
not  tell  how  his  excesses  struck  him  person- 
ally. They  were  nothing  very  heartbreaking 
or  above  the  average.  He  might  be  crippled  for 
life  financially,  and  want  a  little  nursing.  Still 
the  memory  of  his  performances  would  wither 
away  in  one  hot  weather,  and  the  bankers  would 
help  him  to  tide  over  the  money-troubles.     But 


)6  Thrown  Away 

he  must  have  taken  another  view  altogether  and 
have  believed  himself  ruined  beyond  redemption. 
His  Colonel  talked  to  him  severely  when  the  cold 
weather  ended.  That  made  him  more  wretched 
than  ever;  and  it  was  only  an  ordinary  "  Colonel's 
wigging"! 

What  follows  is  a  curious  instance  of  the  fash- 
ion in  which  we  are  all  linked  together  and  made 
responsible  for  one  another.  The  thing  that 
kicked  the  beam  in  The  Boy's  mind  was  a  re- 
mark that  a  woman  made  when  he  was  talking 
to  her.  There  is  no  use  in  repeating  it,  for  it  was 
only  a  cruel  little  sentence,  rapped  out  before 
thinking,  that  made  him  flush  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair.  He  kept  himself  to  himself  for  three  days, 
and  then  put  in  for  two  days'  leave  to  go  shoot- 
ing near  a  Canal  Engineer's  Rest  House  about 
thirty  miles  out.  He  got  his  leave,  and  that 
night  at  Mess  was  noisier  and  more  offensive  than 
ever.  He  said  that  he  was  "going  to  shoot  big 
game,"  and  left  at  half-past  ten  o'clock  in  an 
ekka.  Partridge — which  was  the  only  thing  a 
man  could  get  near  the  Rest  House — is  not  big 
game;  so  every  one  laughed. 

Next  morning  one  of  the  Majors  came  in  from 
short  leave,  and  heard  that  The  Boy  had  gone 
out  to  shoot  "big  game."  The  Major  had  taken 
an  interest  in  The  Boy,  and  had,  more  than  once, 
tried  to  check  him.     The  Major  put  up  his  eye- 


Thrown  Away  37 

brows  when  he  heard  of  the  expedition  and  went 
to  The  Boy's  rooms  where  he  rummaged. 

Presently  he  came  out  and  found  me  leaving 
cards  on  the  Mess.  There  was  no  one  else  in 
the  ante-room. 

He  said,  "The  Boy  has  gone  out  shooting. 
Does  a  man  shoot  tetur  with  a  revolver  and 
writing-case  ?  " 

I  said,  "Nonsense,  Major!"  for  I  saw  what 
was  in  his  mind. 

He  said,  "Nonsense  or  no  nonsense,  I'm  go- 
ing to  the  Canal  now — at  once.  I  don't  feel 
easy." 

Then  he  thought  for  a  minute,  and  said,  "Can 
you  lie  ?" 

"You  know  best,"  I  answered.  "It's  my 
profession." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Major,  "you  must  come 
out  with  me  now — at  once — in  an  ekka  to  the 
Canal  to  shoot  black-buck.  Go  and  put  on 
shikar-kit — quick — and  drive  here  with  a  gun." 

The  Major  was  a  masterful  man ;  and  1  knew 
that  he  would  not  give  orders  for  nothing.  So  I 
obeyed,  and  on  return  found  the  Major  packed 
up  in  an  ekka — gun-cases  and  food  slung  below 
— all  ready  for  a  shooting-trip. 

He  dismissed  the  driver  and  drove  himself. 
We  jogged  along  quietly  while  in  the  station;  but, 
as  soon  as  we  got  to  the  dusty  road  across  the 


38  Tin  otoi  Away 

plains,  he  made  that  pony  fly.  A  country-bied 
can  do  nearly  anything  at  a  pinch.  We  covered 
the  thirty  miles  in  under  three  hours,  but  the  poor 
brute  was  nearly  dead. 

Once  1  said,  "What's  the  blazing  hurry,  Ma- 
jor?" 

He  said,  quietly,  "The  Boy  has  been  alone,  by 
himself  for — one,  two,  five, — fourteen  hours 
now!     I  tell  you.  1  don't  feel  easy." 

This  uneasiness  spread  itself  to  me,  and  1 
helped  to  beat  the  pony. 

When  we  came  to  the  Canal  Engineer's  Rest 
House  the  Major  called  for  The  Boy's  servant; 
but  there  was  no  answer.  Then  we  went  up  to 
the  house,  calling  for  The  Boy  by  name;  but 
there  was  no  answer. 

"Oh.  he's  out  shooting,"  said  I. 

Just  then.  I  saw  through  one  of  the  windows 
a  little  hurricane-lamp  burning.  This  was  at 
four  in  the  afternoon.  We  both  stopped  dead 
in  the  veranda,  holding  our  breath  to  catch  every 
sound;  and  we  heard,  inside  the  room  the  "brr 
— brr — brr"  of  a  multitude  of  flies.  The  Major 
said  nothing,  but  he  took  off  his  helmet  and  we 
entered  very  softlv. 

The  Boy  was  dead  on  the  bed  in  the  centre  of 
the  bare,  lime-washed  room.  He  had  shot  his 
head  nearly  to  pieces  with  his  revolver.  The 
gun-cases  were  still  strapped,  so  was  the  bedding, 


Thrown  Away  yq 

and  on  the  table  lay  The  Boy's  writing-case  with 
photographs.  He  had  gone  away  to  die  like  a 
poisoned  rat! 

The  Major  said  to  himself,  softly,  "Poor  Boy! 
Poor,  poor  devil!  "  Then  he  turned  away  from 
the  bed  and  said,  "I  want  vour  help  in  this 
business." 

Knowing  The  Boy  was  dead  by  his  own  hand, 
I  saw  exactly  what  that  help  would  be,  so  I 
passed  over  to  the  table,  took  a  chair,  lit  a 
cheroot,  and  began  to  go  through  the  writing- 
case;  the  Major  looking  over  my  shoulder  and 
repeating  to  himself,  "We  came  too  late! — Like 
a  rat  in  a  hole! — Poor,  poor  devil!" 

The  Boy  must  have  spent  half  the  night  in 
writing  to  his  people,  to  his  Colonel,  and  to  a 
girl  at  Home;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  finished, 
must  have  shot  himself,  for  he  had  been  dead  a 
long  time  when  we  came  in. 

I  read  all  that  he  had  written,  and  passed  over 
each  sheet  to  the  Major  as  I  finished  it. 

We  saw  from  his  accounts  how  very  seriously 
he  had  taken  everything.  He  wrote  about  "  dis- 
grace which  he  was  unable  to  bear' — "indelible 
shame"— "criminal  folly  "—"  wasted  life,"  and 
so  on;  besides  a  lot  of  private  things  to  his 
father  and  mother  much  too  sacred  to  put  into 
print.  The  letter  to  the  girl  at  Home  was  the 
most  pitiful  of  all;  and  1  choked  as  I  read  it. 


40  Thrown  Away 

The  Major  made  no  attempt  to  keep  dry-eyed.  I 
respected  him  for  that.  He  read  and  rocked  him- 
self to  and  fro,  and  simply  cried  like  a  woman 
without  caring  to  hide  it.  The  letters  were  so 
dreary  and  hopeless  and  touching.  We  forgot 
all  about  The  Boy's  follies,  and  only  thought  of 
the  poor  Thing  on  the  bed  and  the  scrawled 
sheets  in  our  hands.  It  was  utterly  impossible  to 
let  the  letters  go  Home.  They  would  have 
broken  his  father's  heart  and  killed  his  mother 
after  killing  her  belief  in  her  son. 

At  last  the  Major  dried  his  eyes  openly,  and 
said,  "Nice  sort  of  thing  to  spring  on  an  English 
family!     What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

I  said,  knowing  what  the  Major  had  brought 
me  out  for, — "The  Boy  died  of  cholera.  We 
were  with  him  at  the  time.  We  can't  commit 
ourselves  to  half-measures.     Come  along." 

Then  began  one  of  the  most  grimly  comic 
scenes  1  have  ever  taken  part  in — the  concoction 
of  a  big,  written  lie,  bolstered  with  evidence,  to 
soothe  The  Boy's  people  at  Home.  I  began  the 
rough  draft  of  the  letter,  the  Major  throwing  in 
hints  here  and  there  while  he  gathered  up  all  the 
stuff  that  The  Boy  had  written  and  burned  it  in 
the  fireplace.  It  was  a  hot,  still  evening  when 
we  began,  and  the  lamp  burned  very  badly.  In 
due  course  I  made  the  draft  to  my  satisfaction, 
setting  forth  how  The  Boy  was  the  pattern  of  all 


Thrown  Away  41 

> 

virtues,  beloved  by  his  regiment,  with  every 
promise  of  a  great  career  before  him,  and  so  on; 
how  we  had  helped  him  through  the  sickness — 
it  was  no  time  for  little  lies  you  will  understand 
— and  how  he  had  died  without  pain.  I  choked 
while  I  was  putting  down  these  things  and 
thinking  of  the  poor  people  who  would  read 
them.  Then  I  laughed  at  the  grotesqueness  of 
the  affair,  and  the  laughter  mixed  itself  up  with 
the  choke — and  the  Major  said  that  we  both 
wanted  drinks. 

1  am  afraid  to  say  how  much  whisky  we  drank 
before  the  letter  was  finished.  It  had  not  the 
least  effect  on  us.  Then  we  took  off  The  Boy's 
watch,  locket,  and  rings. 

Lastly,  the  Major  said,  "  We  must  send  a  lock 
of  hair,  too.     A  woman  values  that." 

But  there  were  reasons  why  we  could  not  find 
a  lock  fit  to  send.  The  Boy  was  black-haired, 
and  so  was  the  Major,  luckily.  I  cut  off  a  piece 
of  the  Major's  hair  above  the  temple  with  a 
knife,  and  put  it  into  the  packet  we  were  mak- 
ing. The  laughing-fit  and  the  chokes  got  hold 
of  me  again,  and  I  had  to  stop.  The  Major  was 
nearly  as  bad;  and  we  both  knew  that  the  worst 
part  of  the  work  was  to  come. 

We  sealed  up  the  packet,  photographs,  locket, 
seals,  ring,  letter,  and  lock  of  hair  with  The 
Boy's  sealing-wax  and  The  Boy's  seal. 


42  Thrown  Away 

Then  the  Major  said,  "For  God's  sake,  let's 
get  outside — away  from  the  room — and  think!  " 

We  went  outside,  and  walked  on  the  banks  of 
the  Canal  for  an  hour,  eating  and  drinking  what 
we  had  with  us,  until  the  moon  rose.  I  know 
now  exactly  how  a  murderer  feels.  Finally,  we 
forced  ourselves  back  to  the  room  with  the  lamp 
and  the  Other  Thing  in  it,  and  began  to  take  up 
the  next  piece  of  work.  1  am  not  going  to  write 
about  this.  It  was  too  horrible.  We  burned  the 
bedstead  and  dropped  the  ashes  into  the  Canal; 
we  took  up  the  matting  of  the  room  and  treated 
that  in  the  same  way.  I  went  off  to  a  village 
and  borrowed  two  big  hoes, — I  did  not  want 
the  villagers  to  help, — while  the  Major  arranged 
— the  other  matters.  It  took  us  four  hours'  hard 
work  to  make  the  grave.  As  we  worked,  we 
argued  out  whether  it  was  right  to  say  as  much 
as  we  remembered  of  the  Burial  of  the  Dead. 
We  compromised  things  by  saying  the  Lord's 
Prayer  with  a  private  unofficial  prayer  for  the 
peace  of  the  soul  of  The  Boy.  Then  we  filled 
in  the  grave  and  went  into  the  veranda — not  the 
house — to  lie  down  to  sleep.  We  were  dead- 
tired. 

When  we  woke  the  Major  said,  wearily,  "  We 
cant  go  back  till  to-morrow.  We  must  give 
him  a  decent  time  to  die  in.  He  died  early  this 
morning,  remember.     That  seems  more  natural." 


Thrown  Away  4^ 

So  the  Major  must  have  been  lying  awake  all  the 
time,  thinking. 

I  said,  "Then  why  didn't  we  bring  the  body 
back  to  cantonments  ?  " 

The  Major  thought  for  a  minute.  "Because 
the  people  bolted  when  they  heard  of  the  cholera. 
And  the  ehha  has  gone!  " 

That  was  strictly  true.  We  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  ehka-pony,  and  he  had  gone  home. 

So  we  were  left  there  alone,  all  that  stifling 
day,  in  the  Canal  Rest  House,  testing  and  re- 
testing  our  story  of  The  Boy's  death  to  see  if  it 
was  weak  in  any  point.  A  native  appeared  in 
the  afternoon,  but  we  said  that  a  Sahib  was  dead 
of  cholera,  and  he  ran  away.  As  the  dusk 
gathered,  the  Major  told  me  all  his  fears  about 
The  Boy,  and  awful  stories  of  suicide  or  nearly- 
carried-out  suicide — tales  that  made  one's  hair 
crisp.  He  said  that  he  himself  had  once  gone 
into  the  same  Valley  of  the  Shadow  as  The  Boy, 
when  he  was  young  and  new  to  the  country;  so 
he  understood  how  things  fought  together  in 
The  Boy's  poor  jumbled  head.  He  also  said  that 
youngsters,  in  their  repentant  moments,  consider 
their  sins  much  more  serious  and  ineffaceable 
than  they  really  are.  We  talked  together  all 
through  the  evening  and  rehearsed  the  story  of 
the  death  of  The  Boy.  As  soon  as  the  moon  was 
up,  and  The  Boy,  theoretically,  just  buried,  we 


44  Thrown  Away 

struck  across  country  for  the  Station.  We 
walked  from  eight  till  six  o'clock  in  the  morning; 
but  though  we  were  dead-tired,  we  did  not  for- 
get to  go  to  The  Boy's  rooms  and  put  away  his 
revolver  with  the  proper  amount  of  cartridges  in 
the  pouch.  Also  to  set  his  writing-case  on  the 
table.  We  found  the  Colonel  and  reported  the 
death,  feeling  more  like  murderers  than  ever. 
Then  we  went  to  bed  and  slept  the  clock  round; 
for  there  was  no  more  in  us. 

The  tale  had  credence  as  long  as  was  neces- 
sary; for  every  one  forgot  about  The  Boy  before 
a  fortnight  was  over.  Many  people,  however, 
found  time  to  say  that  the  Major  had  behaved 
scandalously  in  not  bringing  in  the  body  for  a 
regimental  funeral.  The  saddest  thing  of  all  was 
the  letter  from  The  Boy's  mother  to  the  Major 
and  me — with  big  inky  blisters  all  over  the  sheet. 
She  wrote  the  sweetest  possible  things  about  our 
great  kindness,  and  the  obligation  she  would  be 
under  to  us  as  long  as  she  lived. 

All  things  considered,  she  was  under  an  obli- 
gation; but  not  exactly  as  she  meant. 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SA1S 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 

When  Man  and  Woman  are  agreed,  what  can  the  Kazi  do  ? 

— Proverb. 

SOME  people  say  that  there  is  no  romance  in 
India.  Those  people  are  wrong.  Our  lives 
hold  quite  as  much  romance  as  is  good  for  us. 
Sometimes  more. 

Strickland  was  in  the  Police,  and  people  did  not 
understand  him ;  so  they  said  he  was  a  doubtful 
sort  of  man  and  passed  by  on  the  other  side. 
Strickland  had  himself  to  thank  for  this.  He 
held  the  extraordinary  theory  that  a  Policeman  in 
India  should  try  to  know  as  much  about  the  na- 
tives as  the  natives  themselves.  Now,  in  the 
whole  of  Upper  India,  there  is  only  one  man 
who  can  pass  for  Hindu  or  Mahommedan,  hide- 
dresser  or  priest,  as  he  pleases.  He  is  feared  and 
respected  by  the  natives  from  the  Ghor  Kathri  to 
the  Jamma  Musjid;  and  he  is  supposed  to  have 
the  gift  of  invisibility  and  executive  control  over 
many  Devils.  But  this  has  done  him  no  good  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Indian  Government. 

Strickland  was  foolish  enough  to  take  that  man 
for  his  model;  and,  following  out  his  absurd 
theory,  dabbled  in  unsavory  places  no  respecta- 

47 


48  Miss  Youghal's  Sais 

ble  man  would  think  of  exploring — all  among 
the  native  riff-raff.  He  educated  himself  in  this 
peculiar  way  for  seven  years,  and  people  could 
not  appreciate  it.  He  was  perpetually  "going 
Fantee "  among  natives,  which,  of  course,  no 
man  with  any  sense  believes  in.  He  was  initiated 
into  the  Sat  Bhai  at  Allahabad  once,  when  he 
was  on  leave;  he  knew  the  Lizzard-Song  of  the 
Sansis,  and  the  Hdlli-Huhk  dance,  which  is  a 
religious  can-can  of  a  startling  kind.  When  a 
man  knows  who  dance  the  Hdlli-Hukk,  and 
how,  and  when,  and  where,  he  knows  some- 
thing to  be  proud  of.  He  has  gone  deeper  than 
the  skin.  But  Strickland  was  not  proud,  though 
he  had  helped  once,  at  Jagadhri,  at  the  Painting 
of  the  Death  Bull,  which  no  Englishman  must 
even  look  upon;  had  mastered  the  thieves'-patter 
of  the  chdngars ;  had  taken  a  Eusufzai  horse- 
thief  alone  near  Attock;  and  had  stood  under 
the  sounding-board  of  a  Border  mosque  and  con- 
ducted service  in  the  manner  of  a  Sunni  Mollah. 

His  crowning  achievement  was  spending  eleven 
days  as  a  faquir  or  priest  in  the  gardens  of  Baba 
Atal  at  Amritsar,  and  there  picking  up  the  threads 
of  the  great  Nasiban  Murder  Case.  But  people 
said,  justly  enough,  "  Why  on  earth  can't  Strick- 
land sit  in  his  office  and  write  up  his  diary,  and 
recruit,  and  keep  quiet,  instead  of  showing  up 
the  incapacity  of  his  seniors?"     So  the  Nasiban 


Miss  Y digital's  Sais  49 

Murder  Case  did  him  no  good  departmentally; 
but,  after  his  first  feeling  of  wrath,  he  returned 
to  his  outlandish  custom  of  prying  into  native 
life.  When  a  man  once  acquires  a  taste  for  this 
particular  amusement,  it  abides  with  him  all  his 
days.  It  is  the  most  fascinating  thing  in  the 
world;  Love  not  excepted.  Where  other  men 
took  ten  days  to  the  Hills,  Strickland  took  leave 
for  what  he  called  shikar,  put  on  the  disguise 
that  appealed  to  him  at  the  time,  stepped  down 
into  the  brown  crowd,  and  was  swallowed  up 
for  a  while.  He  was  a  quiet,  dark  young  fel- 
low— spare,  black-eyed — and,  when  he  was  not 
thinking  of  something  else,  a  very  interesting 
companion.  Strickland  on  Native  Progress  as  he 
had  seen  it  was  worth  hearing.  Natives  hated 
Strickland;  but  they  were  afraid  of  him.  He 
knew  too  much. 

When  the  Youghals  came  into  the  station, 
Strickland — very  gravely,  as  he  did  everything — 
fell  in  love  with  Miss  Youghal;  and  she,  after  a 
while,  fell  in  love  with  him  because  she  could 
not  understand  him.  Then  Strickland  told  the 
parents;  but  Mrs.  Youghal  said  she  was  not  go- 
ing to  throw  her  daughter  into  the  worst  paid 
Department  in  the  Empire,  and  old  Youghal  said, 
in  so  many  words,  that  he  mistrusted  Strickland's 
ways  and  works,  and  would  thank  him  not  to 
speak  or  write  to  his  daughter  any  more.    "  Very 


jo  Miss  Youghal's  Sais 

well,"  said  Strickland,  for  he  did  not  wish  to 
make  his  lady-love's  life  a  burden.  After  one 
long  talk  with  Miss  Youghal  he  dropped  the 
business  entirely. 

The  Youghals  went  up  to  Simla  in  April. 

In  July  Strickland  secured  three  months'  leave 
on  "urgent  private  affairs."  He  locked  up  his 
house — though  not  a  native  in  the  Province 
would  wittingly  have  touched  "  Estreekin  Sa- 
hib's" gear  for  the  world — and  went  down  to 
see  a  friend  of  his,  an  old  dyer,  at  Tarn  Taran. 

Here  all  trace  of  him  was  lost,  until  a  sais  or 
groom  met  me  on  the  Simla  Mall  with  this  ex- 
traordinary note: 

Dear  old  Man, — Please  give  bearer  a  box  of  cheroots 
— Supers,  No.  I,  for  preference.  They  are  freshest  at  the 
Club.  I'll  repay  when  I  reappear;  but  at  present  I'm  out  of 
society.  Yours, 

E.  Strickland. 

I  ordered  two  boxes,  and  handed  them  over  to 
the  sais  with  my  love.  That  sais  was  Strickland, 
and  he  was  in  old  Youghal's  employ,  attached  to 
Miss  Youghal's  Arab.  The  poor  fellow  was  suf- 
fering for  an  English  smoke,  and  knew  that, 
whatever  happened,  I  should  hold  my  tongue  till 
the  business  was  over. 

Later  on,  Mrs.  Youghal.  who  was  wrapped  up 
in  her  servants,  began  talking  at  houses  where 
she    called   of   her   paragon   among   saises — the 


Miss  Youghal's  Sais  51 

man  who  was  never  too  busy  to  get  up  in  the 
morning  and  pick  flowers  for  the  breakfast-table, 
and  who  blacked — actually  blacked — the  hoofs  of 
his  horse  like  a  London  coachman!  The  turn- 
out of  Miss  Youghal's  Arab  was  a  wonder  and 
a  delight.  Strickland — Dulloo,  I  mean — found 
his  reward  in  the  pretty  things  that  Miss  You- 
ghal  said  to  him  when  she  went  out  riding.  Her 
parents  were  pleased  to  find  she  had  forgotten 
all  her  foolishness  for  young  Strickland  and  said 
she  was  a  good  girl. 

Strickland  vows  that  the  two  months  of  his 
service  were  the  most  rigid  mental  discipline  he 
has  ever  gone  through.  Quite  apart  from  the 
little  fact  that  the  wife  of  one  of  his  feWow-saises 
fell  in  love  with  him  and  then  tried  to  poison 
him  with  arsenic  because  he  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  her,  he  had  to  school  himself  into 
keeping  quiet  when  Miss  Youghal  went  out  rid- 
ing with  some  man  who  tried  to  flirt  with  her, 
and  he  was  forced  to  trot  behind  carrying  the 
blanket  and  hearing  every  word!  Also,  he  had 
to  keep  his  temper  when  he  was  slanged  in  the 
theatre  porch  by  a  policeman — especially  once 
when  he  was  abused  by  a  Naik  he  had  himself 
recruited  from  Isser  Jang  village — or,  worse  still, 
when  a  young  subaltern  called  him  a  pig  for  not 
making  way  quickly  enough. 

But  the  life  had  its  compensations.     He  ob' 


52  Miss  Youghal's  Sais 

tnined  great  insight  into  the  ways  and  thefts  of 
saises — enough  he  says  to  have  summarily  con- 
victed half  the  population  of  the  Punjab  if  he  had 
been  on  business.  He  became  one  of  the  leading 
players  at  knuckle-bones,  which  all  jhampdnis 
and  many  saises  play  while  they  are  waiting  out- 
side the  Government  House  or  the  Gaiety  Theatre 
of  nights;  he  learned  to  smoke  tobacco  that  was 
three-fourths  cowdung;  and  he  heard  the  wis- 
dom of  the  grizzled  Jemadar  of  the  Government 
House  grooms.  Whose  words  are  valuable.  He 
saw  many  things  which  amused  him;  and  he 
states,  on  honor,  that  no  man  can  appreciate 
Simla  properly,  till  he  has  seen  it  from  the  sais's 
point  of  view.  He  also  says  that,  if  he  chose  to 
write  all  he  saw,  his  head  would  be  broken  in 
several  places. 

Strickland's  account  of  the  agony  he  endured 
on  wet  nights,  hearing  the  music  and  seeing  the 
lights  in  "  Benmore,'*  with  his  toes  tingling  for  a 
waltz  and  his  head  in  a  horse-blanket,  is  rather 
amusing.  One  of  these  days.  Strickland  is  going 
to  write  a  little  book  on  his  experiences.  That 
book  will  be  worth  buying;  and  even  more 
worth  suppressing. 

Thus,  he  served  faithfully  as  Jacob  served  for 
Rachel;  and  his  leave  was  nearly  at  an  end  when 
the  explosion  came.  He  had  really  done  his  best 
to  keep   his  temper  in  the  hearing  of  the  flirta- 


Miss  Youghal's  Sais  53 

tions  I  have  mentioned;  but  he  broke  down  at 
last.  An  old  and  very  distinguished  General 
took  Miss  Youghal  for  a  ride,  and  began  that 
specially  offensive  "  you're-only-a-little-girl  "  sort 
of  flirtation— most  difficult  for  a  woman  to  turn 
aside  deftly,  and  most  maddening  to  listen  to. 
Miss  Youghal  was  shaking  with  fear  at  the 
things  he  said  in  the  hearing  of  her  sais.  Dulloo 
—Strickland— stood  it  as  long  as  he  could.  Then 
he  caught  hold  of  the  General's  bridle,  and,  in 
most  fluent  English,  invited  him  to  step  off  and 
be  flung  over  the  cliff.  Next  minute,  Miss  You- 
ghal began  to  cry;  and  Strickland  saw  that  he 
had  hopelessly  given  himself  away,  and  every- 
thing was  over. 

The  General  nearly  had  a  fit,  while  Miss  You- 
ghal was  sobbing  out  the  story  of  the  disguise 
and  the  engagement  that  was  not  recognized  by 
the  parents.  Strickland  was  furiously  angry 
with  himself,  and  more  angry  with  the  General 
for  forcing  his  hand;  so  he  said  nothing,  but 
held  the  horse's  head  and  prepared  to  thrash  the 
General  as  some  sort  of  satisfaction.  But  when 
the  General  had  thoroughly  grasped  the  story, 
and  knew  who  Strickland  was,  he  began  to  puff 
and  blow  in  the  saddle,  and  nearly  rolled  off  with 
laughing.  He  said  Strickland  deserved  a  V.  C., 
if  it  were  only  for  putting  on  a  sais's  blanket. 
Then  he  called  himself  names,  and  vowed  that 


54  Miss  Youghal' s  Sais 

he  deserved  a  thrashing,  but  he  was  too  old  to 
take  it  from  Strickland.    Then  he  complimented 

Miss  Youghal  on  her  lover.  The  scandal  of  the 
business  never  struck  him;  for  he  was  a  nice  old 
man,  with  a  weakness  for  flirtations.  Then  he 
laughed  again,  and  said  that  old  Youghal  was  a 
fool.  Strickland  let  go  of  the  cob's  head,  and 
suggested  that  the  General  had  better  help  them, 
if  that  was  his  opinion.  Strickland  knew  You- 
ghal's weakness  for  men  with  titles  and  letters 
after  their  names  and  high  official  position.  "  It's 
rather  like  a  forty-minute  farce,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, "but,  begad,  I  will  help,  if  it's  only  to 
escape  that  tremendous  thrashing  I  deserve.  Go 
along  to  your  home,  my  sais-  Pol  iceman,  and 
change  into  decent  kit,  and  I'll  attack  Mr.  You- 
ghal. Miss  Youghal,  may  1  ask  you  to  canter 
home  and  wait?" 


About  seven  minutes  later,  there  was  a  wild 
hurroosh  at  the  Club.  A  sais,  with  blanket  and 
headrope,  was  asking  all  the  men  he  knew: 
"For  Heaven's  sake  lend  me  decent  clothes!'' 
As  the  men  did  not  recognize  him,  there  were 
some  peculiar  scenes  before  Strickland  could  get 
a  hut  bath,  with  soda  in  it,  in  one  room,  a  shirt 
here,  a  collar  there,  a  pair  of  trousers  elsewhere, 
and  so  on.     He  galloped  off,  with  half  the  Club 


Miss  YoughaVs  Sais  55 

wardrobe  on  his  back,  and  an  utter  stranger's 
pony  under  him,  to  the  house  of  old  Youghal. 
The  General,  arrayed  in  purple  and  fine  linen, 
was  before  him.  What  the  General  had  said 
Strickland  never  knew,  but  Youghal  received 
Strickland  with  moderate  civility;  and  Mrs.  You- 
ghal, touched  by  the  devotion  of  the  transformed 
Dulloo,  was  almost  kind.  The  General  beamed 
and  chuckled,  and  Miss  Youghal  came  in,  and, 
almost  before  old  Youghal  knew  where  he  was, 
the  parental  consent  had  been  wrenched  out,  and 
Strickland  had  departed  with  Miss  Youghal  to 
the  Telegraph  Office  to  wire  for  his  European 
kit.  The  final  embarrassment  was  when  a 
stranger  attacked  him  on  the  Mall  and  asked  for 
the  stolen  pony. 

In  the  end,  Strickland  and  Miss  Youghal  were 
married,  on  the  strict  understanding  that  Strick- 
land should  drop  his  old  ways,  and  stick  to  De- 
partmental routine,  which  pays  best  and  leads  to 
Simla.  Strickland  was  far  too  fond  of  his  wife, 
just  then,  to  break  his  word,  but  it  was  a  sore 
trial  to  him;  for  the  streets  and  the  bazars,  and 
the  sounds  in  them,  were  full  of  meaning  to 
Strickland,  and  these  called  to  him  to  come  back 
and  take  up  his  wanderings  and  his  discoveries. 
Some  day,  I  will  tell  you  how  he  broke  his 
promise  to  help  a  friend.  That  was  long  since, 
and  he  has,  by  this  time,  been  nearly  spoiled  for 


56  Miss  Youghal's   Sat's 

what  he  would  call  shikar.  He  is  forgetting  the 
slang,  and  the  beggar's  caul,  and  the  marks  and 
the  signs,  and  the  drift  of  the  under-currents, 
which,  if  a  man  would  master,  he  must  always 
continue  to  learn. 

But  he  fills  in  his  Departmental  returns  beau- 
tifully. 


"  YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER : 


"YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER" 

I  am  dying  for  you,  and  you  are  dying  for  another. 

— Punjabi  Proverb. 

WHEN  the  Gravesend  tender  left  the  P.  &  O. 
steamer  for  Bombay  and  went  back  to 
catch  the  train  to  Town,  there  were  many  people 
in  it  crying.  But  the  one  who  wept  most,  and 
most  openly,  was  Miss  Agnes  Laiter.  She  had 
reason  to  cry,  because  the  only  man  she  ever 
loved — or  ever  could  love,  so  she  said — was  going 
out  to  India;  and  India,  as  every  one  knows,  is 
divided  equally  between  jungle,  tigers,  cobras, 
cholera,  and  sepoys. 

Phil  Garron,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  steamer 
in  the  rain,  felt  very  unhappy  too;  but  he  did  not 
cry.  He  was  sent  out  to  "tea."  What  "tea" 
meant  he  had  not  the  vaguest  idea,  but  fancied 
that  he  would  have  to  ride  on  a  prancing  horse 
over  hills  covered  with  tea-vines,  and  draw  a 
sumptuous  salary  for  doing  so;  and  he  was  very 
grateful  to  his  uncle  for  getting  him  the  berth. 
He  was  really  going  to  reform  all  his  slack,  shift- 
less ways,  save  a  large  proportion  of  his  magnifi- 
cent salary  yearly,  and,  in  a  very  short  time,  re- 
turn to  marry  Agnes  Laiter.     Phil  Garron  had 

59 


bo  "Yoked  with  tin   Unbeliever" 


been  lying  loose  on  his  friends'  hands  for  three 
years,  and,  as  he  had  nothing  to  do,  he  naturally 
fell  in  love.  He  was  very  nice;  but  he  was  not 
strong  in  his  views  and  opinions  and  principles, 
and  though  he  never  came  to  actual  grief  his 
friends  were  thankful  when  he  said  good-bye, 
and  went  out  to  this  mysterious  "tea"  business 
near  Darjiling.  They  said,  "  God  bless  you,  dear 
boy!  Let  us  never  see  your  face  again," — or  at 
least  that  was  what  Phil  was  given  to  under- 
stand. 

When  he  sailed,  he  was  very  full  of  a  great 
plan  to  prove  himself  several  hundred  times  bet- 
ter than  any  one  had  given  him  credit  for — to 
work  like  a  horse,  and  triumphantly  marry  Agnes 
Laiter.  He  had  many  good  points  besides  his 
good  looks;  his  only  fault  being  that  he  was 
weak,  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  weak.  He 
had  as  much  notion  of  economy  as  the  Morning 
Sun ;  and  yet  you  could  not  lay  your  hand  on  any 
one  item,  and  say,  "Herein  Phil  Garron  is  ex- 
travagant or  reckless."  Nor  could  you  point  out 
any  particular  vice  in  his  character;  but  he  was 
"unsatisfactory"  and  as  workable  as  putty. 

Agnes  Laiter  went  about  her  duties  at  home — 
her  family  objected  to  the  engagement — with  red 
eyes,  while  Phil  was  sailing  to  Darjiling— a  "port 
on  the  Bengal  Ocean.''  as  his  mother  used  to  tell 
her  friends.     He  was  popular  enough  on  board- 


"Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever"  61 

ship,  made  many  acquaintances  and  a  moderately 
large  liquor-bill,  and  sent  off  huge  letters  to  Agnes 
Laiter  at  each  port.  Then  he  fell  to  work  on  this 
plantation,  somewhere  between  Darjiling  and 
Kangra,  and,  though  the  salary  and  the  horse 
and  the  work  were  not  quite  all  he  had  fancied, 
he  succeeded  fairly  well,  and  gave  himself  much 
unnecessary  credit  for  his  perseverance. 

In  the  course  of  time,  as  he  settled  more  into 
collar,  and  his  work  grew  fixed  before  him,  the 
face  of  Agnes  Laiter  went  out  of  his  mind  and 
only  came  when  he  was  at  leisure,  which  was 
not  often.  He  would  forget  all  about  her  for  a 
fortnight,  and  remember  her  with  a  start,  like  a 
schoolboy  who  has  forgotten  to  learn  his  lesson. 
She  did  not  forget  Phil,  because  she  was  of  the 
kind  that  never  forgets.  Only,  another  man — a 
really  desirable  young  man — presented  himself 
before  Mrs.  Laiter;  and  the  chance  of  a  marriage 
with  Phil  was  as  far  off  as  ever;  and  his  letters 
were  so  unsatisfactory;  and  there  was  a  certain 
amount  of  domestic  pressure  brought  to  bear  on 
the  girl;  and  the  young  man  really  was  an  eligi- 
ble person  as  incomes  go;  and  the  end  of  all 
things  was  that  Agnes  married  him,  and  wrote  a 
tempestuous  whirlwind  of  a  letter  to  Phil  in  the 
wilds  of  Darjiling,  and  said  she  should  never 
know  a  happy  moment  all  the  rest  of  her  life. 
Which  was  a  true  prophecy. 


62  "Yoked  with  an   Unbeliever' 


Phil  received  that  letter,  and  held  himself  ill- 
treated.  This  was  two  years  alter  he  had  come 
out;  but  by  dint  of  thinking  fixedly  of  Agnes 
Laiter,  and  looking  at  her  photograph,  and  pat- 
ting himself  on  the  back  for  being  one  of  the 
most  constant  lovers  in  history,  and  warming  to 
the  work  as  he  went  on,  he  really  fancied  that  he 
had  been  very  hardly  used.  He  sat  down  and 
wrote  one  final  letter — a  really  pathetic  "world 
without  end,  amen,"  epistle;  explaining  how  he 
would  be  true  to  Eternity,  and  that  all  women 
were  very  much  alike,  and  he  would  hide  his 
broken  heart,  etc.,  etc.;  but  if,  at  any  future  time, 
etc.,  etc.,  he  could  afford  to  wait,  etc.,  etc.,  un- 
changed affections,  etc.,  etc.,  return  to  her  old 
love,  etc.,  etc.,  for  eight  closely-written  pages. 
From  an  artistic  point  of  view,  it  was  very  neat 
work,  but  an  ordinary  Philistine,  who  knew  the 
state  of  Phil's  real  feelings — not  the  ones  he  rose 
to  as  he  went  on  writing — would  have  called  it 
the  thoroughly  mean  and  selfish  work  of  a  thor- 
oughly mean  and  selfish  weak  man.  But  this 
verdict  would  have  been  incorrect.  Phil  paid  for 
the  postage,  and  felt  every  word  he  had  written 
for  at  least  two  days  and  a  half.  It  was  the  last 
flicker  before  the  light  went  out. 

That  letter  made  Agnes  Laiter  very  unhappy, 
and  she  cried  and  put  it  away  in  her  desk,  and 
became  Mrs.  Somebody  Hlse  for  the  good  of  her 


"'Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever'''  63 

family.  Which  is  the  first  duty  of  every  Chris- 
tian maid. 

Phil  went  his  ways,  and  thought  no  more  of 
his  letter,  except  as  an  artist  thinks  of  a  neatly 
touched-in  sketch.  His  ways  were  not  bad,  but 
they  were  not  altogether  good  until  they  brought 
him  across  Dunmaya,  the  daughter  of  a  Rajput 
ex-Subadar-Major  of  our  Native  Army.  The  girl 
had  a  strain  of  Hill  blood  in  her,  and  like  the  Hill- 
women,  was  not  a  purdah-nashin  or  woman 
who  lives  behind  the  veil.  Where  Phil  met  her, 
or  how  he  heard  of  her,  does  not  matter.  She 
was  a  good  girl  and  handsome,  and,  in  her  way, 
very  clever  and  shrewd;  though,  of  course,  a  lit- 
tle hard.  It  is  to  be  remembered  that  Phil  was 
living  very  comfortably,  denying  himself  no  small 
luxury,  never  putting  by  a  penny,  very  satisfied 
with  himself  and  his  good  intentions,  was  drop- 
ping all  his  English  correspondents  one  by  one, 
and  beginning  more  and  more  to  look  upon  India 
as  his  home.  Some  men  fall  this  way;  and  they 
are  of  no  use  afterward.  The  climate  where  he 
was  stationed  was  good,  and  it  really  did  not 
seem  to  him  that  there  was  any  reason  to  return 
to  England. 

He  did  what  many  planters  have  done  before 
him — that  is  to  say,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  marry 
a  Hill-girl  and  settle  down.  He  was  seven-and- 
twenty  then,  with  a  long  life  before  him,  but  no 


64  "Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever** 

spirit  to  go  through  with  it.  So  he  married  Dun- 
maya  by  the  forms  of  the  English  Church,  and 
some  fellow-planters  said  he  was  a  fool,  and 
some  said  he  was  a  wise  man.  Dunmaya  was  a 
thoroughly  honest  girl,  and,  in  spite  of  her  rev- 
erence for  an  Englishman,  had  a  reasonable  esti- 
mate of  her  husband's  weaknesses.  She  managed 
him  tenderly,  and  became,  in  less  than  a  year,  a 
very  passable  imitation  of  an  English  lady  in  dress 
and  carriage.  It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  Hill- 
man  after  a  lifetime's  education  is  a  Hill-man 
still;  but  a  Hill-woman  can  in  six  months  master 
most  of  the  ways  of  her  English  sisters.  There 
was  a  coolie-woman  once.  But  that  is  another 
story.  Dunmaya  dressed  by  preference  in  black 
and  yellow  and  looked  well. 

Meantime  Phil's  letter  lay  in  Agnes  Laiter's 
desk,  and  now  and  again  she  would  think  of 
poor,  resolute,  hard-working  Phil  among  the 
cobras  and  tigers  of  Darjiling,  toiling  in  the  vain 
hope  that  she  might  come  back  to  him.  Her 
husband  was  worth  ten  Phils,  except  that  he  had 
rheumatism  of  the  heart.  Three  years  after  he 
was  married, — and  after  he  had  tried  Nice  and 
Algeria  for  his  complaint, — he  went  to  Bombay, 
where  he  died,  and  set  Agnes  free.  Being  a  de 
vout  woman,  she  looked  on  his  death  and  the 
place  of  it,  as  a  direct  interposition  of  Provi- 
dence, and   when   she   had   recovered   from   the 


Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever"  65 


shock,  she  took  out  and  re-read  Phil's  letter  with 
the  "etc.,  etc.,"  and  the  big  dashes,  and  the  little 
dashes,  and  kissed  it  several  times.  No  one 
knew  her  in  Bombay;  she  had  her  husband's  in- 
come, which  was  a  large  one,  and  Phil  was  close 
at  hand.  It  was  wrong  and  improper,  of  course, 
but  she  decided,  as  heroines  do  in  novels,  to  find 
her  old  lover,  to  offer  him  her  hand  and  her  gold, 
and  with  him  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  in  some 
spot  far  from  unsympathetic  souls.  She  sat  for 
two  months,  alone  in  Watson's  Hotel,  elaborat- 
ing this  decision,  and  the  picture  was  a  pretty 
one.  Then  she  set  out  in  search  of  Phil  Garron, 
Assistant  on  a  tea  plantation  with  a  more  than 
usually  unpronounceable  name. 

S}C  5}C  iji  5JJ  •!»  *iS 

She  found  him.  She  spent  a  month  over  it,  for 
his  plantation  was  not  in  the  Darjiling  district  at 
all,  but  nearer  Kangra.  Phil  was  very  little  al- 
tered, and  Dunmaya  was  very  nice  to  her. 

Now  the  particular  sin  and  shame  of  the  whole 
business  is  that  Phil,  who  really  is  not  worth 
thinking  of  twice,  was  and  is  loved  by  Dun- 
maya, and  more  than  loved  by  Agnes,  the  whole 
of  whose  life  he  seems  to  have  spoiled. 

Worst  of  all,  Dunmaya  is  making  a  decent 
man  of  him;  and  he  will  ultimately  be  saved 
from  perdition  through  her  training. 

Which  is  manifestly  unfair. 


FALSE  DAWN 


FALSE  DAWN 

To-night  God  knows  what  thing  shall  tide, 

The  Earth  is  racked  and  faint  — 
Expectant,  sleepless,  open-eyed ; 
And  we,  who  from  the  Earth  were  made, 

Thrill  with  our  Mother's  pain. 

— In  Durance. 

NO  man  will  ever  know  the  exact  truth  of  this 
story;  though  women  may  sometimes 
whisper  it  to  one  another  after  a  dance,  when 
they  are  putting  up  their  hair  for  the  night  and 
comparing  lists  of  victims.  A  man,  of  course, 
cannot  assist  at  these  functions.  So  the  tale 
must  be  told  from  the  outside — in  the  dark — all 
wrong. 

Never  praise  a  sister  to  a  sister,  in  the  hope  of 
your  compliments  reaching  the  proper  ears,  and 
so  preparing  the  way  for  you  later  on.  Sisters 
are  women  first,  and  sisters  afterward;  and  you 
will  find  that  you  do  yourself  harm. 

Saumarez  knew  this  when  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  propose  to  the  elder  Miss  Copleigh. 
Saumarez  was  a  strange  man,  with  few  merits  so 
far  as  men  could  see,  though  he  was  popular 
with  women,  and  carried  enough  conceit  to  stock 

69 


70  False  Dawn 

a  Viceroy's  Council  and  leave  a  little  over  for  the 
Commander-in-Chief's  Staff.  He  was  a  Civilian. 
Very  many  women  took  an  interest  in  Saumarez, 
perhaps,  because  his  manner  tc  them  was  offen- 
sive. If  you  hit  a  pony  over  the  nose  at  the  out- 
set of  your  acquaintance,  he  may  not  love  you, 
but  he  will  take  a  deep  interest  in  your  move- 
ments ever  afterward.  The  elder  Miss  Copleigh 
was  nice,  plump,  winning,  and  pretty.  The 
younger  was  not  so  pretty,  and,  from  men  disre- 
garding the  hint  set  forth  above,  her  style  was 
repellant  and  unattractive.  Both  girls  had,  prac- 
tically, the  same  figure,  and  there  was  a  strong 
likeness  between  them  in  look  and  voice;  though 
no  one  could  doubt  for  an  instant  which  was  the 
nicer  of  the  two. 

Saumarez  made  up  his  mind,  as  soon  as  they 
came  into  the  station  from  Behar,  to  marry  the 
elder  one.  At  least,  we  all  made  sure  that  he 
would,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing.  She 
was  two-and-twenty,  and  he  was  thirty-three, 
with  pay  and  allowances  of  nearly  fourteen  hun- 
dred rupees  a  month.  So  the  match,  as  we  ar- 
ranged it,  was  in  every  way  a  good  one.  Sau- 
marez was  his  name,  and  summary  was  his 
nature,  as  a  man  once  said.  Having  drafted  his 
Resolution,  he  formed  a  Select  Committee  of  One 
to  sit  upon  it,  and  resolved  to  take  his  time.  In 
our  unpleasant  slang,  the  Copleigh  girls  "hunted 


False  Dawn  71 

in  couples."  That  is  to  say,  you  could  do  noth- 
ing with  one  without  the  other.  They  were 
very  loving  sisters;  but  their  mutual  affection 
was  sometimes  inconvenient.  Saumarez  held  the 
balance-hair  true  between  them,  and  none  but 
himself  could  have  said  to  which  side  his  heart 
inclined;  though  every  one  guessed.  He  rode 
with  them  a  good  deal  and  danced  with  them, 
but  he  never  succeeded  in  detaching  them  from 
each  other  for  any  length  of  time. 

Women  said  that  the  two  girls  kept  together 
through  deep  mistrust,  each  fearing  that  the  other 
would  steal  a  march  on  her.  But  that  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  a  man.  Saumarez  was  silent  for 
good  or  bad,  and  as  business-likely  attentive  as 
he  could  be,  having  due  regard  to  his  work  and 
his  polo.  Beyond  doubt  both  girls  were  fond  of 
him. 

As  the  hot  weather  drew  nearer  and  Saumarez 
made  no  sign,  women  said  that  you  could  see 
their  trouble  in  the  eyes  of  the  girls — that  they 
were  looking  strained,  anxious,  and  irritable. 
Men  are  quite  blind  in  these  matters  unless  they 
have  more  of  the  woman  than  the  man  in  their 
composition,  in  which  case  it  does  not  matter 
what  they  say  or  think.  I  maintain  it  was  the 
hot  April  days  that  took  the  color  out  of  the 
Copleigh  girls'  cheeks.  They  should  have  been 
sent  to  the  Hills  early.    No  one — man  or  woman 


72  False  Dawn 

— feels  an  angel  when  the  hot  weather  is  ap- 
proaching. The  younger  sister  grew  more  cyni- 
cal, not  to  say  acid,  in  her  ways;  and  the  win- 
ningness  of  the  elder  wore  thin.  There  was  ef- 
fort in  it. 

The  Station  wherein  all  these  things  happened 
was,  though  not  a  little  one,  off  the  line  of  rail, 
and  suffered  through  want  of  attention.  There 
were  no  gardens,  or  bands  or  amusements  worth 
speaking  of,  and  it  was  nearly  a  day's  journey  to 
come  into  Lahore  for  a  dance.  People  were 
grateful  for  small  things  to  interest  them. 

About  the  beginning  of  May,  and  just  before 
the  final  exodus  of  Hill-goers,  when  the  weather 
was  very  hot  and  there  were  not  more  than 
twenty  people  in  the  Station,  Saumarez  gave  a 
moonlight  riding-picnic  at  an  old  tomb,  six  miles 
away,  near  the  bed  of  the  river.  It  was  a 
"Noah's  Ark"  picnic;  and  there  was  to  be  the 
usual  arrangement  of  quarter-mile  intervals  be- 
tween each  couple,  on  account  of  the  dust.  Six 
couples  came  altogether,  including  chaperones. 
Moonlight  picnics  are  useful  just  at  the  very  end 
of  the  season,  before  all  the  girls  go  away  to  the 
Hills.  They  lead  to  understandings,  and  should 
be  encouraged  by  chaperones;  especially  those 
whose  girls  look  sweetest  in  riding-habits.  I 
knew  a  case  once.  But  that  is  another  story. 
That  picnic  was  called  the  "Great  Pop  Picnic," 


False  Dawn  73 

because  every  one  knew  Saumarez  would  pro- 
pose then  to  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh;  and,  be- 
sides his  affair,  there  was  another  which  might 
possibly  come  to  happiness.  The  social  atmos- 
phere was  heavily  charged  and  wanted  clearing. 

We  met  at  the  parade-ground  at  ten:  the 
night  was  fearfully  hot.  The  horses  sweated 
even  at  walking-pace,  but  anything  was  better 
than  sitting  still  in  our  own  dark  houses.  When 
we  moved  off  under  the  full  moon  we  were  four 
couples,  one  triplet,  and  Me.  Saumarez  rode 
with  the  Copleigh  girls,  and  1  loitered  at  the  tail 
of  the  procession  wondering  with  whom  Sau- 
marez would  ride  home.  Every  one  was  happy 
and  contented;  but  we  all  felt  that  things  were 
going  to  happen.  We  rode  slowly;  and  it  was 
nearly  midnight  before  we  reached  the  old  tomb, 
facing  the  ruined  tank,  in  the  decayed  gardens 
where  we  were  going  to  eat  and  drink.  I  was 
late  in  coming  up;  and,  before  I  went  in  to  the 
garden,  I  saw  that  the  horizon  to  the  north  carried 
a  faint,  dun-colored  feather.  But  no  one  would 
have  thanked  me  for  spoiling  so  well-managed 
an  entertainment  as  this  picnic — and  a  dust  storm, 
more  or  less,  does  no  great  harm. 

We  gathered  by  the  tank.  Some  one  had 
brought  out  a  banjo — which  is  a  most  sentimen- 
tal instrument — and  three  or  four  of  us  sang. 
You  must  not  laugh  at  this.     Our  amusements  in 


74  False  Dawn 

out-of-the-way  Stations  are  very  few  indeed. 
Then  we  talked  in  groups  or  together,  lying  un- 
der the  trees,  with  the  sun-baked  roses  dropping 
their  petals  on  our  feet,  until  supper  was  ready. 
It  was  a  beautiful  supper,  as  cold  and  as  iced  as 
you  could  wish;  and  we  staved  long  over  it. 

I  had  felt  that  the  air  was  growing  hotter  and 
hotter;  but  nobody  seemed  to  notice  it  until  the 
moon  went  out  and  a  burning  hot  wind  began 
lashing  the  orange-trees  with  a  sound  like  the 
noise  of  the  sea.  Before  we  knew  where  we 
were,  the  dust-storm  was  on  us  and  everything 
was  roaring,  whirling  darkness.  The  supper- 
table  was  blown  bodily  into  the  tank.  We  were 
afraid  of  staying  anywhere  near  the  old  tomb  for 
fear  it  might  be  blown  down.  So  we  felt  our 
way  to  the  orange-trees  where  the  horses  were 
picketed  and  waited  for  the  storm  to  blow  over. 
Then  the  little  light  that  was  left  vanished,  and 
you  could  not  see  your  hand  before  your  face. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  dust  and  sand  from  the 
bed  of  the  river,  that  filled  boots  and  pockets  and 
drifted  down  necks  and  coated  eyebrows  and 
moustaches.  It  was  one  of  the  worst  dust- 
storms  of  the  year.  We  were  all  huddled  to- 
gether close  to  the  trembling  horses,  with  the 
thunder  chattering  overhead,  and  the  lightning 
spurting  like  water  from  a  sluice,  all  ways  at 
once.     There  was  no  danger,  of  course,  unless 


False  Dawn  75 

the  horses  broke  loose.  I  was  standing  with  my 
head  downwind  and  my  hands  over  my  mouth, 
hearing  the  trees  thrashing  each  other.  I  could 
not  see  who  was  next  me  till  the  flashes  came. 
Then  I  found  that  I  was  packed  near  Saumarez 
and  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  with  my  own  horse 
just  in  front  of  me.  I  recognized  the  eldest  Miss 
Copleigh,  because  she  had  a  puggree  round  her 
helmet,  and  the  younger  had  not.  All  the  elec- 
tricity in  the  air  had  gone  into  my  body  and  I 
was  quivering  and  tingling  from  head  to  foot — 
exactly  as  a  corn  shoots  and  tingles  before  rain. 
It  was  a  grand  storm.  The  wind  seemed  to  be 
picking  up  the  earth  and  pitching  it  to  leeward  in 
great  heaps;  and  the  heat  beat  up  from  the 
ground  like  the  heat  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

The  storm  lulled  slightly  after  the  first  half- 
hour,  and  I  heard  a  despairing  little  voice  close  to 
my  ear,  saying  to  itself,  quietly  and  softly,  as  if 
some  lost  soul  were  flying  about  with  the  wind, 
"  O  my  God!  "  Then  the  younger  Miss  Copleigh 
stumbled  into  my  arms,  saying,  "Where  is  my 
horse  ?  Get  my  horse.  I  want  to  go  home.  I 
want  to  go  home.     Take  me  home." 

I  thought  that  the  lightning  and  the  black  dark- 
ness had  frightened  her;  so  I  said  there  was  no 
danger,  but  she  must  wait  till  the  storm  blew 
over.  She  answered,  "It  is  not  that!  I  want 
to  go  home!     Oh,  take  me  away  from  here! " 


76  False  Dawn 

I  said  that  she  could  not  go  till  the  light  came; 
but  1  felt  her  brush  past  me  and  go  away.  It  was 
too  dark  to  see  where.  Then  the  whole  sky  was 
split  open  with  one  tremendous  flash,  as  if  the 
end  of  the  world  were  coming,  and  all  the 
women  shrieked. 

Almost  directly  after  this,  1  felt  a  man's  hand 
on  my  shoulder  and  heard  Saumarez  bellowing 
in  my  ear.  Through  the  rattling  of  the  trees  and 
howling  of  the  wind,  I  did  not  catch  his  words 
at  once,  but  at  last  1  heard  him  say,  "  I've  pro- 
posed to  the  wrong  one!  What  shall  I  do?" 
Saumarez  had  no  occasion  to  make  this  confi- 
dence to  me.  1  was  never  a  friend  of  his,  nor 
am  I  now;  but  I  fancy  neither  of  us  were  our- 
selves just  then.  He  was  shaking  as  he  stood 
with  excitement,  and  I  was  feeling  queer  all  over 
with  the  electricity.  I  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing to  say  except,  "  More  fool  you  for  propos- 
ing in  a  dust-storm.''  But  I  did  not  see  how  that 
would  improve  the  mistake. 

Then  he  shouted,  "Where's  Edith— Edith  Cop- 
leigh?"  Edith  was  the  younger  sister.  !  an- 
swered out  of  my  astonishment,  "What  do  you 
want  with  her?"  For  the  next  two  minutes,  he 
and  I  were  shouting  at  each  other  like  maniacs, 
— he  vowing  that  it  was  the  younger  sister  he 
had  meant  to  propose  to  all  along,  and  I  telling 
him  till  my  throat  was  hoarse  that  he  must  have 


False  Dawn  77 

made  a  mistake!  I  cannot  account  for  this  ex- 
cept, again,  by  the  fact  that  we  were  neither  of 
us  ourselves.  Everything  seemed  to  me  like  a 
bad  dream — from  the  stamping  of  the  horses  in 
the  darkness  to  Saumarez  telling  me  the  story  of 
his  loving  Edith  Copleigh  from  the  first.  He  was 
still  clawing  my  shoulder  and  begging  me  to  tell 
him  where  Edith  Copleigh  was,  when  another 
lull  came  and  brought  light  with  it,  and  we  saw 
the  dust-cloud  forming  on  the  plain  in  front  of 
us.  So  we  knew  the  worst  was  over.  The 
moon  was  low  down,  and  there  was  just  the 
glimmer  of  the  false  dawn  that  comes  about  an 
hour  before  the  real  one.  But  the  light  was  very 
faint,  and  the  dun  cloud  roared  like  a  bull.  I 
wondered  where  Edith  Copleigh  had  gone;  and 
as  I  was  wondering  I  saw  three  things  together: 
First,  Maud  Copleigh's  face  come  smiling  out  of 
the  darkness  and  move  toward  Saumarez  who 
was  standing  by  me.  I  heard  the  girl  whisper, 
"George,"  and  slide  her  arm  through  the  arm 
that  was  not  clawing  my  shoulder,  and  I  saw 
that  look  on  her  face  which  only  comes  once  or 
twice  in  a  lifetime — when  a  woman  is  perfectly 
happy  and  the  air  is  full  of  trumpets  and  gor- 
geously-colored fire  and  the  Earth  turns  into  cloud 
because  she  loves  and  is  loved.  At  the  same 
time,  I  saw  Saumarez's  face  as  he  heard  Maud 
Copleigh's  voice,  and  fifty  yards  away  from  the 


78  False  Dawn 

clump  of  orange-trees,  I  saw  a  brown  holland 
habit  getting  upon  a  horse. 

It  must  have  been  my  state  of  over-excitement 
that  made  me  so  ready  to  meddle  with  what  did 
not  concern  me.  Saumarex  was  moving  off  to 
the  habit;  but  I  pushed  him  back  and  said,  "Stop 
here  and  explain.  I'll  fetch  her  back!"  And  I 
ran  out  to  get  at  my  own  horse.  I  had  a  per- 
fectly unnecessary  notion  that  everything  must 
be  done  decently  and  in  order,  and  that  Sau- 
marez's  first  care  was  to  wipe  the  happy  look  out 
of  Maud  Copleigh's  face.  All  the  time  I  was 
linking  up  the  curb-chain  1  wondered  how  he 
would  do  it. 

1  cantered  after  Edith  Copleigh,  thinking  to 
bring  her  back  slowly  on  some  pretence  or  an- 
other. But  she  galloped  away  as  soon  as  she 
saw  me,  and  I  was  forced  to  ride  after  her  in 
earnest.  She  called  back  over  her  shoulder — 
"Go  away!  I'm  going  home.  Oh,  go  away!" 
two  or  three  times;  but  my  business  was  to 
catch  her  first,  and  argue  later.  The  ride  fitted 
in  with  the  rest  of  the  evil  dream.  The  ground 
was  very  rough,  and  now  and  again  we  rushed 
through  the  whirling,  choking  "dust-devils"  in 
the  skirts  of  the  flying  storm.  There  was  a 
burning  hot  wind  blowing  that  brought  up  a 
stench  of  stale  brick-kilns  with  it;  and  through 
the  half  light  and  through  the  dust-devils,  across 


False  Dawn  79 

that  desolate  plain,  flickered  the  brown  holland 
habit  on  the  grey  horse.  She  headed  for  the 
Station  at  first.  Then  she  wheeled  round  and  set 
off  for  the  river  through  beds  of  burned-down 
jungle-grass,  bad  even  to  ride  pig  over.  In  cold 
blood  1  should  never  have  dreamed  of  going  over 
such  a  country  at  night,  but  it  seemed  quite  right 
and  natural  with  the  lightning  crackling  over- 
head, and  a  reek  like  the  smell  of  the  Pit  in  my 
nostrils.  I  rode  and  shouted,  and  she  bent  for- 
ward and  lashed  her  horse,  and  the  aftermath  of 
the  dust-storm  came  up,  and  caught  us  both,  and 
drove  us 'downwind  like  pieces  of  paper. 

I  don't  know  how  far  we  rode;  but  the  drum- 
ming of  the  horse-hoofs  and  the  roar  of  the  wind 
and  the  race  of  the  faint  blood-red  moon  through 
the  yellow  mist  seeemed  to  have  gone  on  for 
years  and  years,  and  I  was  literally  drenched 
with  sweat  from  my  helmet  to  my  gaiters  when 
the  grey  stumbled,  recovered  himself  and  pulled 
up  dead  lame.  My  brute  was  used  up  altogether. 
Edith  Copleigh  was  bare  headed,  plastered  with 
dust,  and  crying  bitterly.  "Why  can't  you  let 
me  alone?"  she  said.  "I  only  wanted  to  get 
away  and  go  home.     Oh,  please  let  me  go!  " 

"You  have  got  to  come  back  with  me,  Miss 
Copleigh.  Saumarez  has  something  to  say  to 
you." 

It  was  a  foolish  way  of  putting  it;  but  I  hardly 


80  False  Dawn 

knew  Miss  Copleigh,  and,  though  I  was  playing 
Providence  at  the  cost  of  my  horse,  I  could  not 
tell  her  in  as  many  words  what  Saumarez  had 
told  me.  1  thought  he  could  do  that  better  him- 
self. All  her  pretence  about  being  tired  and 
wanting  to  go  home  broke  down,  and  she  rocked 
herself  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle  as  she  sobbed, 
and  the  hot  wind  blew  her  black  hair  to  leeward. 
I  am  not  going  to  repeat  what  she  said,  because 
she  was  utterly  unstrung. 

This  was  the  cynical  Miss  Copleigh,  and  I, 
almost  an  utter  stranger  to  her,  was  trying  to  tell 
her  that  Saumarez  loved  her  and  she  was  to  come 
back  to  hear  him  say  so.  I  believe  1  made  my- 
self understood,  for  she  gathered  the  grey  to- 
gether and  made  him  hobble  somehow,  and  we 
set  off  for  the  tomb,  while  the  storm  went  thun- 
dering down  to  Umballa  and  a  few  big  drops  of 
warm  rain  fell.  I  found  out  that  she  had  been 
standing  close  to  Saumarez  when  he  proposed  to 
her  sister,  and  had  wanted  to  go  home  to  cry  in 
peace,  as  an  English  girl  should.  She  dabbed  her 
eyes  with  her  pocket-handkerchief  as  we  went 
along,  and  babbled  to  me  out  of  sheer  lightness 
of  heart  and  hysteria.  That  was  perfectly  un- 
natural; and  yet,  it  seemed  all  right  at  the  time 
and  in  the  place.  All  the  world  was  only  the 
two  Copleigh  girls,  Saumarez  and  I,  ringed  in 
with  the  lightning  and  the  dark;  and  the  guid- 


False  Dawn  81 

ance  of  this  misguided  world  seemed  to  lie  in  my 
hands. 

When  we  returned  to.  the  tomb  in  the  deep 
dead  stillness  that  followed  the  storm,  the  dawn 
was  just  breaking  and  nobody  had  gone  away. 
They  were  waiting  for  our  return.  Saumarez 
most  of  all.  His  face  was  white  and  drawn. 
As  Miss  Copleigh  and  I  limped  up,  he  came  for- 
ward to  meet  us,  and,  when  he  helped  her  down 
from  her  saddle,  he  kissed  her  before  all  the  pic- 
nic. It  was  like  a  scene  in  a  theatre,  and  the 
likeness  was  heightened  by  all  the  dust-white, 
ghostly-looking  men  and  women  under  the 
orange-trees  clapping  their  hands— as  if  they 
were  watching  a  play— at  Saumarez's  choice.  I 
never  knew  anything  so  un-English  in  my  life. 

Lastly,  Saumarez  said  we  must  all  go  home  or 
the  Station  would  come  out  to  look  for  us,  and 
would  I  be  good  enough  to  ride  home  with  Maud 
Copleigh  ?  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleas- 
ure, I  said. 

So  we  formed  up,  six  couples  in  all,  and  went 
back  two  by  two;  Saumarez  walking  at  the  side 
of  Edith  Copleigh,  who  was  riding  his  horse. 
Maud  Copleigh  did  not  talk  to  me  at  any  length. 

The  air  was  cleared;  and,  little  by  little,  as  the 
sun  rose,  I  felt  we  were  all  dropping  back  again 
into  ordinary  men  and  women,  and  that  the 
"Great  Pop  Picnic"  was  a  thing  altogether  apart 


8a  False  Dawn 

and  out  of  the  world — never  to  happen  again. 
It  had  gone  with  the  dust-storm  and  the  tingle  in 
the  hot  air. 

I  felt  tired  and  limp,  and  a  good  deal  ashamed 
of  myself  as  I  went  in  for  a  bath  and  some  sleep. 

There  is  a  woman's  version  of  this  story,  but 
it  will  never  be  written  .  .  .  unless  Maud 
Copleigh  cares  to  try. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 

Thus,  for  a  season,  they  fought  it  fair  — 

She  and  his  cousin  May  — 
Tactful,  talented,  debonnaire, 

Decorous  foes  were  they  ; 
But  never  can  battle  of  man  compare 

With  merciless  feminine  fray. 

—  Two  and  One. 

MRS.  HAUKSBEE  was  sometimes  nice  to  her 
own  sex.  Here  is  a  story  to  prove  this; 
and  you  can  believe  just  as  much  as  ever  you 
please. 

Pluffles  was  a  subaltern  in  the  "  Unmention- 
ables." He  was  callow,  even  for  a  subaltern. 
He  was  callow  all  over— like  a  canary  that  had 
not  finished  fledging  itself.  The  worst  of  it  was 
that  he  had  three  times  as  much  money  as  was 
good  for  him;  Pluffles'  Papa  being  a  rich  man 
and  Pluffles  being  the  only  son.  Pluffles'  Mamma 
adored  him.  She  was  only  a  little  less  callow 
than  Pluffles,  and  she  believed  everything  he  said. 

Pluffles'  weakness  was  not  believing  what  peo- 
ple said.  He  preferred  what  he  called  trusting  to 
his  own  judgment.  He  had  as  much  judgment 
as  he   had  seat  or  hands;   and  this  preference 

85 


86  The  Rescue  of  Pluflles 

tumbled  him  into  trouble  once  or  twice.  But 
the  biggest  trouble  IMul'tles  ever  manufactured 
came  about  at  Simla — some  years  ago,  when  he 
was  four-and-twenty. 

He  began  by  trusting  to  his  own  judgment  as 
usual,  and  the  result  was  that,  after  a  time,  he 
was  bound  hand  and  foot  to  Mrs.  Reiver's  'rick- 
shaw wheels. 

There  was  nothing  good  about  Mrs.  Reiver, 
unless  it  was  her  dress.  She  was  bad  from  her 
hair — which  started  life  on  a  Brittany  girl's  head 
— to  her  boot-heels,  which  were  two  and  three- 
eighth  inches  high.  She  was  not  honestly  mis- 
chievous like  Mrs.  Hauksbee;  she  was  wicked  in 
a  business-like  way. 

There  was  never  any  scandal — she  had  not 
generous  impulses  enough  for  that.  She  was 
the  exception  which  proved  the  rule  that  Anglo- 
Indian  ladies  are  in  every  way  as  nice  as  their 
sisters  at  Home.  She  spent  her  life  in  proving 
that  rule. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  and  she  hated  each  other  fer- 
vently. They  hated  far  too  much  to  clash;  but 
the  things  they  said  of  each  other  were  startling 
— not  to  say  original.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  hon- 
est— honest  as  her  own  front-teeth— and,  but 
for  her  love  of  mischief,  would  have  been  a 
woman's  woman.  There  was  no  honesty  about 
Mrs.    Reiver;    nothing   but  selfishness.     And  at 


The  Rescue  of  Pluffles  87 

the  beginning  of  the  season,  poor  little  Pluffles 
fell  a  prey  to  her.  She  laid  herself  out  to  that 
end,  and  how  was  Pluffles  to  resist  ?  He  trusted 
to  his  judgment,  and  he  got  judged. 

I  have  seen  Captain  Hayes  argue  with  a  tough 
horse — I  have  seen  a  tonga-driver  coerce  a  stub- 
born pony — I  have  seen  a  riotous  setter  broken 
to  gun  by  a  hard  keeper — but  the  breaking-in  of 
Pluffles  of  the  "  Unmentionables  "  was  beyond 
all  these.  He  learned  to  fetch  and  carry  like  a 
dog,  and  to  wait  like  one,  too,  for  a  word  from 
Mrs.  Reiver.  He  learned  to  keep  appointments 
which  Mrs.  Reiver  had  no  intention  of  keeping. 
He  learned  to  take  thankfully  dances  which  Mrs. 
Reiver  had  no  intention  of  giving  him.  He 
learned  to  shiver  for  an  hour  and  a  quarter  on 
the  windward  side  of  Elysium  while  Mrs.  Reiver 
was  making  up  her  mind  to  come  for  a  ride.  He 
learned  to  hunt  for  a  'rickshaw,  in  a  light  dress- 
suit  under  pelting  rain,  and  to  walk  by  the  side 
of  that  'rickshaw  when  he  had  found  it.  He 
learned  what  it  was  to  be  spoken  to  like  a  coolie 
and  ordered  about  like  a  cook.  He  learned  all 
this  and  many  other  things  besides.  And  he  paid 
for  his  schooling. 

Perhaps,  in  some  hazy  way,  he  fancied  that  it 
was  fine  and  impressive,  that  it  gave  him  a  status 
among  men,  and  was  altogether  the  thing  to  do. 
It  was  nobody's  business  to  warn  Pluffles  that 


88  The  Rescue  of  Pluffles 

he  was  unwise.  The  pace  that  season  was  too 
good  to  inquire;  and  meddling  with  another 
man's  folly  is  always  thankless  work.  Pluffles' 
Colonel  should  have  ordered  him  back  to  his 
regiment  when  he  heard  how  things  were  going. 
But  Pluftles  had  got  himself  engaged  to  a  girl  in 
England  the  last  time  he  went  Home; -and,  if 
there  was  one  thing  more  than  another  that  the 
Colonel  detested,  it  was  a  married  subaltern. 
He  chuckled  when  he  heard  of  the  education  of 
Pluffles,  and  said  it  was  good  training  for  the 
boy.  But  it  was  not  good  training  in  the  least. 
It  led  him  into  spending  money  beyond  his 
means,  which  were  good;  above  that,  the  edu- 
cation spoiled  an  average  boy  and  made  it  a 
tenth-rate  man  of  an  objectionable  kind.  He 
wandered  into  a  bad  set,  and  his  little  bill  at  the 
jewelers  was  a  thing  to  wonder  at. 

Then  Mrs.  Hauksbee  rose  to  the  occasion.  She 
played  her  game  alone,  knowing  what  people 
would  say  of  her;  and  she  played  it  for  the  sake 
of  a  girl  she  had  never  seen.  Pluffles'  jianUe 
was  to  come  out,  under  chaperonage  of  an  aunt, 
in  October,  to  be  married  to  Pluftles. 

At  the  beginning  of  August,  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
discovered  that  it  was  time  to  interfere.  A  man 
who  rides  much  knows  exactly  what  a  horse  is 
going  to  do  next  before  he  does  it.  In  the  same 
way,  a  woman  of  Mrs.   Hauksbee's  experience 


The  Rescue  of  Pluffles  89 

knows  accurately  how  a  boy  will  behave  under 
certain  circumstances — notably  when  he  is  in- 
fatuated with  one  of  Mrs.  Reiver's  stamp.  She 
said  that,-  sooner  or  later,  little  Pluffles  would 
break  off  that  engagement  for  nothing  at  all — 
simply  to  gratify  Mrs.  Reiver,  who,  in  return, 
would  keep  him  at  her  feet  and  in  her  service  just 
so  long  as  she  found  it  worth  her  while.  She  said 
she  knew  the  signs  of  these  things.  If  she  did 
not  no  one  else  could. 

Then  she  went  forth  to  capture  Pluffles  under 
the  guns  of  the  enemy;  just  as  Mrs.  Cusack- 
Bremmil  carried  away  Bremmil  under  Mrs. 
Hauksbee's  eyes. 

This  particular  engagement  lasted  seven  weeks 
— we  called  it  the  Seven  Weeks'  War — and  was 
fought  out  inch  by  inch  on  both  sides.  A  de- 
tailed account  would  fill  a  book,  and  would  be 
incomplete  then.  Any  one  who  knows  about 
these  things  can  fit  in  the  details  for  him- 
self. It  was  a  superb  fight — there  will  never  be 
another  like  it  as  long  as  Jakko  Hill  stands — and 
Pluffles  was  the  prize  of  victory.  People  said 
shameful  things  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  They  did 
not  know  what  she  was  playing  for.  Mrs. 
Reiver  fought  partly  because  Pluffles  was  useful 
to  her,  but  mainly  because  she  hated  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee, and  the  matter  was  a  trial  of  strength  be- 
tween   them.     No    one    knows    what    Pluffles 


90  The  Rescue  of  Pluffles 

thought.  He  had  not  many  ideas  at  the  best  of 
times,  and  the  few  he  possessed  made  him  con- 
ceited. Mrs.  Hauksbee  said,  "  The  boy  must  be 
caught;  and  the  only  way  of  catching  him  is  by 
treating  him  well.-' 

So  she  treated  him  as  a  man  of  the  world  and 
of  experience  so  long  as  the  issue  was  doubtful. 
Little  by  little,  Pluffles  fell  away  from  his  old 
allegiance  and  came  over  to  the  enemy,  by  whom 
he  was  made  much  of.  He  was  never  sent  on 
out-post  duty  after  rickshaws  any  more,  nor  was 
he  given  dances  which  never  came  off,  nor  were 
the  drains  on  his  purse  continued.  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee held  him  on  the  snaffle;  and,  after  his  treat- 
ment at  Mrs.  Reiver's  hands,  he  appreciated  the 
change. 

Mrs.  Reiver  had  broken  him  of  talking  about 
himself,  and  made  him  talk  about  her  own 
merits.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  acted  otherwise,  and 
won  his  confidence,  till  he  mentioned  his  enga^r- 
ment  to  the  girl  at  Home,  speaking  of  it  in  a  high 
and  mighty  way  as  a  piece  of  boyish  folly.  This 
was  when  he  was  taking  tea  with  her  one  after- 
noon, and  discoursing  in  what  he  considered  a 
gay  and  fascinating  style.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  had 
seen  an  earlier  generation  of  his  stamp  bud  and 
blossom,  and  decay  into  fat  Captains  and  tubby 
Majors. 

At  a  moderate  estimate  there  were  about  three- 


The  Rescue  of  Pluffles  91 

and-twenty  sides  to  that  lady's  character.  Some 
men  say  more.  She  began  to  talk  to  Pluffles 
after  the  manner  of  a  mother,  and  as  if  there  had 
been  three  hundred  years,  instead  of  fifteen,  be- 
tween them.  She  spoke  with  a  sort  of  throaty 
quaver  in  her  voice  which  had  a  soothing  effect, 
though  what  she  said  was  anything  but  soothing. 
She  pointed  out  the  exceeding  folly,  not  to  say 
meanness,  of  Pluffles'  conduct,  and  the  smallness 
of  his  views.  Then  he  stammered  something 
about  "trusting  to  his  own  judgment  as  a  man 
of  the  world  ";  and  this  paved  the  way  for  what 
she  wanted  to  say  next.  It  would  have  withered 
up  Pluffles  had  it  come  from  any  other  woman; 
but,  in  the  soft  cooing  style  in  which  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  put  it,  it  only  made  him  feel  limp  and 
repentant — as  if  he  had  been  in  some  superior 
kind  of  church.  Little  by  little,  very  softly  and 
pleasantly,  she  began  taking  the  conceit  out  of 
Pluffles,  as  they  take  the  ribs  out  of  an  umbrella 
before  re-covering  it.  She  told  him  what  she 
thought  of  him  and  his  judgment  and  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  world;  and  how  his  performances 
had  made  him  ridiculous  to  other  people;  and 
how  it  was  his  intention  to  make  love  to  herself 
if  she  gave  him  the  chance.  Then  she  said  that 
marriage  would  be  the  making  of  him;  and  drew 
a  pretty  little  picture — all  rose  and  opal — of  the 
Mrs.  Pluffles  of  the  future  going  through  life  re- 


92  The  Rescue  of  Pluffles 

lying  on  the  judgment  and  knowledge  of  the 
world  of  a  husband  who  had  nothing  to  reproach 
himself  with.  How  she  reconciled  these  two 
statements  she  alone  knew.  But  they  did  not 
strike  Pluffles  as  conflicting. 

Hers  was  a  perfect  little  homily — much  better 
than  any  clergyman  could  have  given — and  it 
ended  with  touching  allusions  to  Pluffles'  Mamma 
and  Papa,  and  the  wisdom  of  taking  his  bride 
Home. 

Then  she  sent  Pluffles  out  for  a  walk,  to  think 
over  what  she  had  said.  Pluffles  left,  blowing 
his  nose  very  hard  and  holding  himself  very 
straight.     Mrs.  Hauksbee  laughed. 

What  Pluffles  had  intended  to  do  in  the  matter 
of  the  engagement  only  Mrs.  Reiver  knew,  and  she 
kept  her  own  counsel  to  her  death.  She  would 
have  liked  it  spoiled  as  a  compliment,  I  fancy. 

Pluffles  enjoyed  many  talks  with  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee during  the  next  few  days.  They  were  all  to 
the  same  end,  and  they  helped  Pluffles  in  the  path 
of  Virtue. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  wanted  to  keep  him  under  her 
wing  to  the  last.  Therefore  she  discountenanced 
his  going  down  to  Bombay  to  get  married. 
"Goodness  only  knows  what  might  happen  by 
the  way!  "  she  said.  "  Pluffles  is  cursed  with  the 
curse  of  Reuben,  and  India  is  no  fit  place  for 
himl" 


The  Rescue  of  Pluffles  93 

In  the  end,  the.  fiancee  arrived  with  her  aunt; 
and  Pluffles,  having  reduced  his  affairs  to  some 
sort  of  order— here  again  Mrs.  Hauksbee  helped 
him — was  married. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  both 
the  "I  wills"  had  been  said,  and  went  her  way. 

Pluffles  took  her  advice  about  going  Home. 
He  left  the  Service  and  is  now  raising  speckled 
cattle  inside  green  painted  fences  somewhere  in 
England.  I  believe  he  does  this  very  judiciously. 
He  would  have  come  to  extreme  grief  in  India. 

For  these  reasons,  if  any  one  says  anything 
more  than  usually  nasty  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
tell  him  the  story  of  the  Rescue  of  Pluffles. 


CUPID'S  ARROWS 


CUPID'S  ARROWS 

Pit  where  the  buffalo  cooled  his  hide, 

By  the  hot  sun  emptied,  and  blistered  and  dried; 

Log  in  the  plume-grass,  hidden  and  lone ; 

Dam  where  the  earth-rat's  mounds  are  strown ; 

Cave  in  the  bank  where  the  sly  stream  steals ; 

Aloe  that  stabs  at  the  belly  and  heels, 

Jump  if  you  dare  on  a  steed  untried  — 

Safer  it  is  to  go  wide — go  wide ! 

Hark,  from  in  front  where  the  best  men  ride  : 

"  Pull  to  the  off,  boys!    Wide!  Go  wide!" 

— The  Peora  Hunt. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  at  Simla  a  very 
.pretty  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  poor  but 
honest  District  and  Sessions  Judge.  She  was  a 
good  girl  but  could  not  help  knowing  her  power 
and  using  it.  Her  Mamma  was  very  anxious 
about  her  daughter's  future,  as  all  good  Mam- 
mas should  be. 

When  a  man  is  a  Commissioner  and  a  bachelor 
and  has  the  right  of  wearing  open-work  jam-tart 
jewels  in  gold  and  enamel  on  his  clothes,  and  of 
going  through  a  door  before  every  one  except  a 
Member  of  Council,  a  Lieutenant-Governor,  or  a 
Viceroy,  he  is  worth  marrying.  At  least,  that  is 
what  ladies  say.     There  was  a  Commissioner  in 

97 


98  Cupid's  Arrows 

Simla,  in  those  days,  who  was,  and  wore  and  did 
all  I  have  said.  He  was  a  plain  man — an  ugly  man 
— the  ugliest  man  in  Asia,  with  two  exceptions. 
His  was  a  face  to  dream  about  and  try  to  carve 
on  a  pipe-head  afterward.  His  name  was  Sag- 
gott — Barr-Saggott — Anthony  Barr-Saggott  and 
six  letters  to  follow.  Departmentally,  he  was 
one  of  the  best  men  the  Government  of  India 
owned.  Socially,  he  was  like  unto  a  blandishing 
gorilla. 

When  he  turned  his  attentions  to  Miss  Beigh- 
ton,  I  believe  that  Mrs.  Beighton  wept  with  de- 
light at  the  reward  Providence  had  sent  her  in 
her  old  age. 

Mr.  Beighton  held  his  tongue.  He  was  an 
easy-going  man. 

A  Commissioner  is  very  rich.  His  pay  is  be- 
yond the  dreams  of  avarice — is  so  enormous  that 
he  can  afford  to  save  and  scrape  in  a  way  that 
would  almost  discredit  a  Member  of  Council. 
Most  Commissioners  are  mean;  but  Barr-Saggott 
was  an  exception.  He  entertained  royally;  he 
horsed  himself  well;  he  gave  dances;  he  was  a 
power  in  the  land;  and  he  behaved  as  such. 

Consider  that  everything  I  am  writing  of  took 
place  in  an  almost  pre-historic  era  in  the  history 
of  British  India.  Some  folk  may  remember  the 
years  before  lawn-tennis  was  born  when  we  all 
played  croquet.     There  were  seasons  before  that, 


Cupid's  Arrows  99 

if  you  will  believe  me,  when  even  croquet  had 
not  been  invented,  and  archery — which  was  re- 
vived in  England  in  1844 — was  as  great  a  pest  as 
lawn-tennis  is  now.  People  talked  learnedly 
about  "holding"  and  "loosing,"  "steles,"  "re- 
flexed  bows,"  "56-pound  bows,"  "backed "or 
"self-yew  bows,"  as  we  talk  about  "rallies," 
"  volleys,"  "smashes,"  "  returns," and  "  16-ounce 
rackets." 

Miss  Beighton  shot  divinely  over  ladies'  dis- 
tance— sixty  yards,  that  is — and  was  acknowl- 
edged the  best  lady  archer  in  Simla.  Men  called 
her  "Diana  of  Tara-Devi." 

Barr-Saggott  paid  her  great  attention ;  and,  as 
I  have  said,  the  heart  of  her  mother  was  uplifted 
in  consequence.  Kitty  Beighton  took  matters 
more  calmly.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  singled  out 
by  a  Commissioner  with  letters  after  his  name, 
and  to  fill  the  hearts  of  other  girls  with  bad  feel- 
ings. But  there  was  no  denying  the  fact  that 
Barr-Saggott  was  phenomenally  ugly  ;  and  all  his 
attempts  to  adorn  himself  only  made  him  more 
grotesque.  He  was  not  christened  ' '  The  Langur  " 
— which  means  grey  ape — for  nothing.  It  was 
pleasant,  Kitty  thought,  to  have  him  at  her  feet, 
but  it  was  better  to  escape  from  him  and  ride 
with  the  graceless  Cubbon — the  man  in  a 
Dragoon  Regiment  at  Umballa — the  boy  with  a 
handsome  face,  and  no  prospects.     Kitty  liked 


ioo  Cupid's  Arrows 

Cubbon  more  than  a  little.  He  never  pretended 
for  a  moment  that  he  was  anything  less  than 
head  over  heels  in  love  with  her;  for  he  was  an 
honest  boy.  So  Kitty  fled,  now  and  again,  from 
the  stately  wooings  of  Barr-Saggott  to  the  com- 
pany of  young  Cubbon,  and  was  scolded  by  her 
Mamma  in  consequence.  "But,  Mother,"  she 
said,  "  Mr.  Saggott  is  such — such  a — is  so  fear- 
fully ugly,  you  know!  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Beighton,  piously,  "we 
cannot  be  other  than  an  all-ruling  Providence  has 
made  us.  Besides,  you  will  take  precedence  of 
your  own  Mother,  you  know!  Think  of  that 
and  be  reasonable." 

Then  Kitty  put  up  her  little  chin  and  said  ir- 
reverent things  about  precedence,  and  Commis- 
sioners, and  matrimony.  Mr.  Beighton  rubbed 
the  top  of  his  head;  for  he  was  an  easy-going 
man. 

Late  in  the  season,  when  he  judged  that  the 
time  was  ripe,  Barr-Saggott  developed  a  plan 
which  did  great  credit  to  his  administrative 
powers.  He  arranged  an  archery-tournament 
for  ladies,  with  a  most  sumptuous  diamond- 
studded  bracelet  as  prize.  He  drew  up  his  terms 
skilfully,  and  every  one  saw  that  the  bracelet  was 
a  gift  to  Miss  Beighton;  the  acceptance  carrying 
with  it  the  hand  and  the  heart  of  Commissioner 
Barr-Saggott.     The  terms   were  a  St.   Leonard's 


Cupid's  Arrows  101 

Round — thirty-six  shots  at  sixty  yards — under 
the  rules  of  the  Simla  Toxophilite  Society. 

All  Simla  was  invited.  There  were  beautifully 
arranged  tea-tables  under  the  deodars  at  Annan- 
dale,  where  the  Grand  Stand  is  now;  and,  alone 
in  its  glory,  winking  in  the  sun,  sat  the  diamond 
bracelet  in  a  blue  velvet  case.  Miss  Beighton  was 
anxious — almost  too  anxious — to  compete.  On 
the  appointed  afternoon  all  Simla  rode  down  to 
Annandale  to  witness  the  Judgment  of  Paris 
turned  upside  down.  Kitty  rode  with  young 
Cubbon,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  boy  was 
troubled  in  his  mind.  He  must  be  held  inno- 
cent of  everything  that  followed.  Kitty  was 
pale  and  nervous,  and  looked  long  at  the  brace- 
let. Barr-Saggott  was  gorgeously  dressed,  even 
more  nervous  than  Kitty,  and  more  hideous  than 
ever. 

Mrs.  Beighton  smiled  condescendingly,  as  be- 
fitted the  mother  of  a  potential  Commissioneress, 
and  the  shooting  began;  all  the  world  standing  a 
semicircle  as  the  ladies  came  out  one  after  the 
other. 

Nothing  is  so  tedious  as  an  archery  competi- 
tion. They  shot,  and  they  shot,  and  they  kept 
on  shooting,  till  the  sun  left  the  valley,  and  little 
breezes  got  up  in  the  deodars,  and  people  waited 
for  Miss  Beighton  to  shoot  and  win.  Cubbon 
was  at  one  horn   of  the  semicircle  round  the 


102  Cupid's  Arrows 

shooters,  and  Barr-Saggott  at  the  other.  Miss 
Beighton  was  last  on  the  list.  The  scoring  had 
been  weak,  and  the  bracelet,  with  Commissioner 
Barr-Saggott,  was  hers  to  a  certainty. 

The  Commissioner  strung  her  bow  with  his 
own  sacred  hands.  She  stepped  forward,  looked 
at  the  bracelet,  and  her  first  arrow  went  true  to  a 
hair — full  into  the  heart  of  the  "gold" — count- 
ing nine  points. 

Young  Cubbon  on  the  left  turned  white,  and 
his  Devil  prompted  Barr-Saggott  to  smile.  Now 
horses  used  to  shy  when  Barr-Saggott  smiled. 
Kitty  saw  that  smile.  She  looked  to  her  left- 
front,  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  nod  to  Cub- 
bon, and  went  on  shooting. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  the  scene  that  followed. 
It  was  out  of  the  ordinary  and  most  improper. 
Miss  Kitty  fitted  her  arrows  with  immense  delib- 
eration, so  that  every  one  might  see  what  she 
was  doing.  She  was  a  perfect  shot;  and  her 
fortv-six  pound  bow  suited  her  to  a  nicety.  She 
pinned  the  wooden  legs  of  the  target  with  great 
care  four  successive  times.  She  pinned  the 
wooden  top  of  the  target  once,  and  all  the  ladies 
looked  at  each  other.  Then  she  began  some 
fancy  shooting  at  the  white,  which  if  you  hit  it, 
counts  exactly  one  point.  She  put  five  arrows 
into  the  white.  It  was  wonderful  archery;  but, 
seeing  that  her  business  was  to  make  "golds" 


Cupid's  Arrows  103 

and  win  the  bracelet,  Barr-Saggott  turned  a  deli- 
cate green  like  young  water-grass.  Next,  she 
shot  over  the  target  twice,  then  wide  to  the  left 
twice — always  with  the  same  deliberation — while 
a  chilly  hush  fell  over  the  company,  and  Mrs. 
Beighton  took  out  her  handkerchief.  Then  Kitty 
shot  at  the  ground  in  front  of  the  target,  and 
split  several  arrows.  Then  she  made  a  red — or 
seven  points — just  to  show  what  she  could  do  if 
she  liked,  and  she  finished  up  her  amazing  per- 
formance with  some  more  fancy  shooting  at  the 
target  supports.  Here  is  her  score  as  it  was 
pricked  off: 

Gold.    Red.    Blue.    Black.    White.       T°tal    T°tal 

Hits.    Score. 

Miss  Beighton     11  00  5  721. 

Barr-Saggott  looked  as  if  the  last  few  arrow- 
heads had  been  driven  into  his  legs  instead  of  the 
target's,  and  the  deep  stillness  was  broken  by  a 
little  snubby,  mottled,  half-grown  girl  saying  in 
a  shrill  voice  of  triumph,  "  Then  I've  won!  " 

Mrs.  Beighton  did  her  best  to  bear  up;  but  she 
wept  in  the  presence  of  the  people.  No  training 
could  help  her  through  such  a  disappointment. 
Kitty  unstrung  her  bow  with  a  vicious  jerk,  and 
went  back  to  her  place,  while  Barr-Saggott  was 
trying  to  pretend  that  he  enjoyed  snapping  the 
bracelet  on  the  snubby  girl's  raw,  red  wrist.     It 


104  Cupid's  Arrows 

was  an  awkward  scene — most  awkward.  Every 
one  tried  to  depart  in  a  body  and  leave  Kitty  to 
the  mercy  of  her  Mamma. 

But  Cubbon  took  her  away  instead,  and — the 
rest  isn't  worth  printing. 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 

Then  a  pile  of  heads  he  laid  — 

Thirty  thousands  heaped  on  high  — 

All  to  please  the  Kafir  maid, 
Where  the  Oxus  ripples  by. 

Grimly  spake  Atulla  Khan  :  — 

"  Love  hath  made  this  thing  a  Man." 

—  O ana's  Story. 

IF  you  go  straight  away  from  Levees  and  Gov- 
ernment House  Lists,  past  Trades'  Balls — far 
beyond  everything  and  everybody  you  ever  knew 
in  your  respectable  life — you  cross,  in  time,  the 
Borderline  where  the  last  drop  of  White  blood 
ends  and  the  full  tide  of  Black  sets  in.  It  would 
be  easier  to  talk  to  a  new-made  Duchess  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  than  to  the  Borderline  folk 
without  violating  some  of  their  conventions  or 
hurting  their  feelings.  The  Black  and  the  White 
mix  very  quaintly  in  their  ways.  Sometimes  the 
White  shows  in  spurts  of  fierce,  childish  pride — 
which  is  Pride  of  Race  run  crooked — and  some- 
times the  Black  in  still  fiercer  abasement  and  hu- 
mility, half-heathenish  customs  and  strange, 
unaccountable  impulses  to  crime.  One  of  these 
days,  this  people — understand  they  are  far  lower 
than  the  class  whence  Derozio,  the  man  who 

107 


io8  His  Chance  iti  Life 

imitated  Byron,  sprung — will  turn  out  a  writer 
or  a  poet;  and  then  we  shall  know  how  they  live 
and  what  they  feel.  In  the  meantime,  any  stories 
about  them  cannot  be  absolutely  correct  in  fact 
or  inference. 

Miss  Vezzis  came  from  across  the  Borderline  to 
look  after  some  children  who  belonged  to  a  lady 
until  a  regularly  ordained  nurse  could  come  out. 
The  lady  said  Miss  Vezzis  was  a  bad,  dirty  nurse 
and  inattentive.  It  never  struck  her  that  Miss 
Vezzis  had  her  own  life  to  lead  and  her  own 
affairs  to  worry  over,  and  that  these  affairs  were 
the  most  important  things  in  the  world  to  Miss 
Vezzis.  Very  few  mistresses  admit  this  sort  of 
reasoning.  Miss  Vezzis  was  as  black  as  a  boot, 
and,  to  our  standard  of  taste,  hideously  ugly. 
She  wore  cotton-print  gowns  and  bulged  shoes; 
and  when  she  lost  her  temper  with  the  children, 
she  abused  them  in  the  language  of  the  Border- 
line— which  is  part  English,  part  Portuguese,  and 
part  Native.  She  was  not  attractive;  but  she  had 
her  pride,  and  she  preferred  being  called  "Miss 
Vezzis." 

Every  Sunday,  she  dressed  herself  wonderfully 
and  went  to  see  her  Mamma,  who  lived,  for  the 
most  part,  on  an  old  cane  chair  in  a  greasy  tussur- 
silk  dressing-gown  and  a  big  rabbit-warren  of  a 
house  full  of  Vezzises,  Pereiras,  Ribieras,  Lisboas 
and   Gonsalveses,   and  a  floating  population  of 


His  Chance  in  Life  109 

loafers;  besides  fragments  of  the  day's  market, 
garlic,  stale  incense,  clothes  thrown  on  the  floor, 
petticoats  hung  on  strings  for  screens,  old  bottles, 
pewter  crucifixes,  dried  immortelles,  pariah  pup- 
pies, plaster  images  of  the  Virgin,  and  hats  with- 
out crowns.  Miss  Vezzis  drew  twenty  rupees  a 
month  for  acting  as  nurse,  and  she  squabbled 
weekly  with  her  Mamma  as  to  the  percentage  to 
be  given  toward  housekeeping.  When  the  quar- 
rel was  over,  Michele  D'Cruze  used  to  shamble 
across  the  low  mud  wall  of  the  compound  and 
make  love  to  Miss  Vezzis  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Borderline,  which  is  hedged  about  with  much 
ceremony.  Michele  was  a  poor,  sickly  weed  and 
very  black;  but  he  had  his  pride.  He  would  not 
be  seen  smoking  a  hnqa  for  anything;  and  he 
looked  down  on  natives  as  only  a  man  with 
seven-eighths  native  blood  in  his  veins  can.  The 
Vezzis  Family  had  their  pride  too.  They  traced 
their  descent  from  a  mythical  platelayer  who  had 
worked  on  the  Sone  Bridge  when  railways  were 
new  in  India,  and  they  valued  their  English 
origin.  Michele  was  a  Telegraph  Signaller  on 
Rs.3  s  a  month.  The  fact  that  he  was  in  Gov- 
ernment employ  made  Mrs.  Vezzis  lenient  to  the 
shortcomings  of  his  ancestors. 

There  was  a  compromising  legend — Dom  Anna 
the  tailor  brought  it  from  Poonani — that  a  black 
Jew  of  Cochin  had  once  married  into  the  D'Cruze 


1 10  His  Chance  in  Life 

family;  while  it  was  an  open  secret  that  an  uncle 
of  Mrs.  D'Cruze  was,  at  that  very  time,  doing 
menial  work,  connected  with  cooking,  for  a  Club 
in  Southern  India!  He  sent  Mrs.  D'Cruze  seven 
rupees  eight  annas  a  month;  but  she  felt  the  dis- 
grace to  the  family  very  keenly  all  the  same. 

However,  in  the  course  of  a  few  Sundays,  Mrs. 
Vezzis  brought  herself  to  overlook  these  blem- 
ishes and  gave  her  consent  to  the  marriage  of  her 
daughter  with  Michele,  on  condition  that  Michele 
should  have  at  least  fifty  rupees  a  month  to  start 
married  life  upon.  This  wonderful  prudence 
must  have  been  a  lingering  touch  of  the  mythical 
platelayer's  Yorkshire  blood;  for  across  the  Bor- 
derline people  take  a  pride  in  marrying  when  they 
please — not  when  they  can. 

Having  regard  to  his  departmental  prospects, 
Miss  Vezzis  might  as  well  have  asked  Michele  to 
go  away  and  come  back  with  the  Moon  in  his 
pocket.  But  Michele  was  deeply  in  love  with 
Miss  Vezzis,  and  that  helped  him  to  endure.  He 
accompanied  Miss  Vezzis  to  Mass  one  Sunday, 
and  after  Mass,  walking  home  through  the  hot 
stale  dust  with  her  hand  in  his,  he  swore  by  sev- 
eral Saints  whose  names  would  not  interest  you, 
never  to  forget  Miss  Vezzis;  and  she  swore  by 
her  Honor  and  the  Saints — the  oath  runs  rather 
curiously;  "  ///  nomine  SanctissitncB  " — (whatever 
the  name  of  the  she-Saint  is)  and  so  forth,  ending 


His  Chance  in  Life  1 1 1 

with  a  kiss  on  the  forehead,  a  kiss  on  the  left 
cheek,  and  a  kiss  on  the  mouth — never  to  forget 
Michele. 

Next  week  Michele  was  transferred,  and  Miss 
Vezzis  dropped  tears  upon  the  window-sash  of 
the  "Intermediate"  compartment  as  he  left  the 
Station. 

If  you  look  at  the  telegraph-map  of  India  you 
will  see  a  long  line  skirting  the  coast  from  Back- 
ergunge  to  Madras.  Michele  was  ordered  to 
Tibasu,  a  little  Sub-office  one-third  down  this 
line,  to  send  messages  on  from  Berhampur  to 
Chicacola,  and  to  think  of  Miss  Vezzis  and  his 
chances  of  getting  fifty  rupees  a  month  out  of 
office-hours.  He  had  the  noise  of  the  Bay  of 
Bengal  and  a  Bengali  Babu  for  company;  nothing 
more.  He  sent  foolish  letters,  with  crosses  tucked 
inside  the  flaps  of  the  envelopes,  to  Miss  Vezzis. 

When  he  had  been  at  Tibasu  for  nearly  three 
weeks  his  chance  came. 

Never  forget  that  unless  the  outward  and  visi- 
ble signs  of  Our  Authority  are  always  before  a 
native  he  is  as  incapable  as  a  child  of  understand- 
ing what  authority  means,  or  where  is  the  danger 
of  disobeying  it.  Tibasu  was  a  forgotten  little 
place  with  a  few  Orissa  Mahommedans  in  it. 
These,  hearing  nothing  of  the  Collector- Sahib  for 
some  time  and  heartily  despising  the  Hindu  Sub- 
Judge,  arranged  to  start  a  little  Mohurrum  riot  of 


H2  His  Chance  in  Life 

their  own.  But  the  Hindus  turned  out  and  broke 
their  heads;  when,  finding  lawlessness  pleasant, 
Hindus  and  Mahommedans  together  raised  an 
aimless  sort  of  Donnybrook  just  to  see  how  far 
they  could  go.  They  looted  each  others'  shops, 
and  paid  off  private  grudges  in  the  regular  way. 
It  was  a  nasty  little  riot,  but  not  worth  putting 
in  the  newspapers. 

Michele  was  working  in  his  office  when  he 
heard  the  sound  that  a  man  never  forgets  all  his 
life — the  "  ah-vah  "  of  an  angry  crowd.  [When 
that  sound  drops  about  three  tones,  and  changes 
to  a  thick,  droning  ///,  the  man  who  hears  it  had 
better  go  away  if  he  is  alone.]  The  Native  Police 
Inspector  ran  in  and  told  Michele  that  the  town 
was  in  an  uproar  and  coming  to  wreck  the  Tele- 
graph Office.  The  Babu  put  on  his  cap  and 
quietly  dropped  out  of  the  window;  while  the 
Police  Inspector,  afraid,  but  obeying  the  old  race- 
instinct  which  recognizes  a  drop  of  White  blood 
as  far  as  it  can  be  diluted,  said,  "What  orders 
does  the  Sahib  give  ?  " 

The  "  Sahib  "  decided  Michele.  Though  hor- 
ribly frightened,  he  felt  that,  for  the  hour,  he,  the 
man  with  the  Cochin  Jew  and  the  menial  uncle 
in  his  pedigree,  was  the  only  representative  of 
English  authority  in  the  place.  Then  he  thought 
of  Miss  Vezzis  and  the  fifty  rupees,  and  took 
the    situation    on    himself.     There   were    seven 


His  Chance  in  Life  na 

native  policemen  in  Tibasu,  and  four  crazy 
smooth-bore  muskets  among  them.  All  the  men 
were  grey  with  fear,  but  not  beyond  leading. 
Michele  dropped  the  key  of  the  telegraph  instru- 
ment, and  went  out,  at  the  head  of  his  army,  to 
meet  the  mob.  As  the  shouting  crew  came  round 
a  corner  of  the  road,  he  dropped  and  fired;  the 
men  behind  him  loosing  instinctively  at  the  same 
time. 

The  whole  crowd — curs  to  the  backbone— yelled 
and  ran;  leaving  one  man  dead,  and  another  dying 
in  the  road.  Michele  was  sweating  with  fear; 
but  he  kept  his  weakness  under,  and  went  down 
into  the  town,  past  the  house  where  the  Sub- 
Judge  had  barricaded  himself.  The  streets  were 
empty.  Tibasu  was  more  frightened  than  Mich- 
ele, for  the  mob  had  been  taken  at  the  right  time. 

Michele  returned  to  the  Telegraph-Office,  and 
sent  a  message  to  Chicacola  asking  for  help.  Be- 
fore an  answer  came,  he  received  a  deputation  of 
the  elders  of  Tibasu,  telling  him  that  the  Sub- 
Judge  said  his  actions  generally  were  "  unconsti- 
tutional," and  trying  to  bully  him.  But  the  heart 
of  Michele  D'Cruze  was  big  and  white  in  his. 
breast,  because  of  his  love  for  Miss  Vezzis,  the 
nurse-girl,  and  because  he  had  tasted  for  the  first 
time  Responsibility  and  Success.  Those  two 
make  an  intoxicating  drink,  and  have  ruined  more 
men  than  ever  has  Whisky.     Michele  answered 


ii4  W&  Chance  in  Life 

that  the  Sub-Judge  might  say  what  he  pleased, 
but,  until  the  Assistant  Collector  came,  the  Tele- 
graph Signaller  was  the  Government  of  India  in 
Tibasu,  and  the  elders  of  the  town  would  be  held 
accountable  for  further  rioting.  Then  they  bowed 
their  heads  and  said,  "Show  mercy!"  or  words 
to  that  effect,  and  went  back  in  great  fear;  each 
accusing  the  other  of  having  begun  the  rioting. 

Early  in  the  dawn,  after  a  night's  patrol  with 
his  seven  policemen,  Michele  went  down  the 
road,  musket  in  hand,  to  meet  the  Assistant  Col- 
lector who  had  ridden  in  to  quell  Tibasu.  But, 
in  the  presence  of  this  young  Englishman, 
Michele  felt  himself  slipping  back  more  and  more 
into  the  native;  and  the  tale  of  the  Tibasu  Riots 
ended,  with  the  strain  on  the  teller,  in  an  hyster- 
ical outburst  of  tears,  bred  by  sorrow  that  he  had 
killed  a  man,  shame  that  he  could  not  feel  as  up- 
lifted as  he  had  felt  through  the  night,  and  child- 
ish anger  that  his  tongue  could  not  do  justice  to 
his  great  deeds.  It  was  the  White  drop  in 
Michele's  veins  dying  out,  though  he  did  not 
know  it. 

.  But  the  Englishman  understood;  and,  after  he 
had  schooled  those  men  of  Tibasu,  and  had  con- 
ferred with  the  Sub-Judge  till  that  excellent  offi- 
cial turned  green,  he  found  time  to  draft  an  official 
letter  describing  the  conduct  of  Michele.  Which 
letter  filtered  through  the  Proper  Channels,  and 


His  Chance  in  Life  115 

ended  in  the  transfer  of  Michele  up-country  once 
more,  on  the  Imperial  salary  of  sixty-six  rupees  a 
month. 

So  he  and  Miss  Vezzis  were  married  with  great 
state  and  ancientry;  and  now  there  are  several 
little  D'Cruzes  sprawling  about  the  verandas  of 
the  Central  Telegraph  Office. 

But,  if  the  whole  revenue  of  the  Department 
he  serves  were  to  be  his  reward,  Michele  could 
never,  never  repeat  what  he  did  at  Tibasu  for  the 
sake  of  Miss  Vezzis  the  nurse-girl. 

Which  proves  that,  when  a  man  does  good 
work  out  of  all  proportion  to  his  pay,  in  seven 
cases  out  of  nine  there  is  a  woman  at  the  back  of 
the  virtue. 

The  two  exceptions  must  have  suffered  from 
sunstroke. 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 

What  is  in  the  Brahman's  books  that  is  in  the  Brahman's 

heart.     Neither  you  nor  I  knew  there  was  so  much  evil  in  the 

world. 

— Hindu  Proverb. 

THIS  began  in  a  practical  joke;  but  it  has  gone 
far  enough  now,  and  is  getting  serious. 

Platte,  the  Subaltern,  being  poor,  had  a  Water- 
bury  watch  and  a  plain  leather  guard. 

The  Colonel  had  a  Waterbury  watch  also,  and, 
for  the  guard,  the  lip-strap  of  a  curb-chain.  Lip- 
straps  make  the  best  watch-guards.  They  are 
strong  and  short.  Between  a  lip-strap  and  an 
ordinary  leather-guard  there  is  no  great  differ- 
ence; between  one  Waterbury  watch  and  an- 
other none  at  all.  Every  one  in  the  Station  knew 
the  Colonel's  lip-strap.  He  was  not  a  horsey 
man,  but  he  liked  people  to  believe  he  had  been 
one  once;  and  he  wove  fantastic  stories  of  the 
hunting-bridle  to  which  this  particular  lip-strap 
had  belonged.  Otherwise  he  was  painfully  re- 
ligious. 

Platte  and  the  Colonel  were  dressing  at  the 
Club — both  late  for  their  engagements,  and  both 
in  a  hurry.     That  was  Kismet.  The  two  watches 

119 


120  Watches  of  the  Night 

were  on  a  shelf  below  the  looking-glass — guards 
hanging  down.  That  was  carelessness.  Platte 
changed  first,  snatched  a  watch,  looked  in  the 
glass,  settled  his  tie,  and  ran.  Forty  seconds 
later,  the  Colonel  did  exactly  the  same  thing; 
each  man  taking  the  other's  watch. 

You  may  have  noticed  that  many  religious 
people  are  deeply  suspicious.  They  seem — for 
purely  religious  purposes,  of  course — to  know 
more  about  iniquity  than  the  Unregenerate.  Per- 
haps they  were  specially  bad  before  they  became 
converted!  At  any  rate,  in  the  imputation  of 
things  evil,  and  in  putting  the  worst  construction 
on  things  innocent,  a  certain  type  of  good  people 
may  be  trusted  to  surpass  all  others.  The  Colonel 
and  his  Wife  were  of  that  type.  But  the  Colonel's 
Wife  was  the  worst.  She  manufactured  the 
Station  scandal,  and — talked  to  her  ayah.  Noth- 
ing more  need  be  said.  The  Colonel's  Wife 
broke  up  the  Laplace's  home.  The  Colonel's 
Wife  stopped  the  Ferris-Haughtrey  engagement. 
The  Colonel's  Wife  induced  young  Buxton  to 
keep  his  wife  down  in  the  Plains  through  the 
first  year  of  the  marriage.  Wherefore  little  Mrs. 
Buxton  died,  and  the  baby  with  her.  These 
things  will  be  remembered  against  the  Colonel's 
Wife  so  long  as  there  is  a  regiment  in  the  coun- 
try. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  Colonel  and  Platte. 


Watches  of  the  Night  121 

They  went  their  several  ways  from  the  dressing- 
room.  The  Colonel  dined  with  two  Chaplains, 
while  Platte  went  to  a  bachelor-party,  and  whist 
to  follow. 

Mark  how  things  happen!  If  Platte's  groom 
had  put  the  new  saddle-pad  on  the  mare,  the 
butts  of  the  territs  would  not  have  worked 
through  the  worn  leather  and  the  old  pad  into 
the  mare's  withers,  when  she  was  coming  home 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  She  would  not 
have  reared,  bolted,  fallen  into  a  ditch,  upset  the 
cart,  and  sent  Platte  flying  over  an  aloe-hedge  on 
to  Mrs.  Larkyn's  well-kept  lawn;  and  this  tale 
would  never  have  been  written.  But  the  mare 
did  all  these  things,  and  while  Platte  was  rolling 
over  and  over  on  the  turf,  like  a  shot  rabbit,  the 
watch  and  guard  flew  from  his  waistcoat — as  an 
Infantry  Major's  sword  hops  out  of  the  scabbard 
when  they  are  firing  a  feu-de-joie — and  rolled 
and  rolled  in  the  moonlight,  till  it  stopped  under 
a  window. 

Platte  stuffed  his  handkerchief  under  the  pad, 
put  the  cart  straight,  and  went  home. 

Mark  again  how  Kismet  works !  This  would 
not  arrive  once  in  a  hundred  years.  Toward  the 
end  of  his  dinner  with  the  two  Chaplains,  the 
Colonel  let  out  his  waistcoat  and  leaned  over  the 
table  to  look  at  some  Mission  Reports.  The  bar 
of  the  watch-guard  worked  through  the  button- 


122  Watches  of  the  Night 

hole,  and  the  watch— Platte's  watch— slid  quietly 
on  to  the  carpet.  Where  the  bearer  found  it 
next  morning  and  kept  it. 

Then  the  Colonel  went  home  to  the  wife  of 
his  bosom;  but  the  driver  of  the  carriage  was 
drunk  and  lost  his  way.  So  the  Colonel  returned 
at  an  unseemly  hour  and  his  excuses  were  not 
accepted.  If  the  Colonel's  Wife  had  been  an  or- 
dinary vessel  of  wrath  appointed  for  destruction, 
she  would  have  known  that  when  a  man  stays 
away  on  purpose,  his  excuse  is  always  sound 
and  original.  The  very  baldness  of  the  Colonel's 
explanation  proved  its  truth. 

See  once  more  the  workings  of  Kismet.  The 
Colonel's  watch  which  came  with  Platte  hur- 
riedly on  to  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lawn,  chose  to  stop 
just  under  Mrs.  Larkyn's  window,  where  she 
saw  it  early  in  the  morning,  recognized  it  and 
picked  it  up.  She  had  heard  the  crash  of  Platte's 
cart  at  two  o'clock  that  morning,  and  his  voice 
calling  the  mare  names.  She  knew  Platte  and 
liked  him.  That  day  she  showed  him  the  watch 
and  heard  his  story.  He  put  his  head  on  one 
side,  winked  and  said,  "  How  disgusting!  Shock- 
ing old  man!  With  his  religious  training,  too!  I 
should  send  the  watch  to  the  Colonel's  Wife  and 
ask  for  explanations." 

Mrs.  Larkyn  thought  for  a  minute  of  the 
Laplaces — whom  she  had  known  when  Laplace 


Watches  of  the  Night  123 

and  his  wife  believed  in  each  other — and  an- 
swered, "I  will  send  it.  I  think  it  will  do  her 
good.  But,  remember,  we  must  never  tell  her 
the  truth." 

Platte  guessed  that  his  own  watch  was  in  the 
Colonel's  possession,  and  thought  that  the  return 
of  the  lip-strapped  Waterbury  with  a  soothing 
note  from  Mrs.  Larkyn  would  merely  create  a 
small  trouble  for  a  few  minutes.  Mrs.  Larkyn 
knew  better.  She  knew  that  any  poison  dropped 
would  find  good  holding-ground  in  the  heart  of 
the  Colonel's  Wife. 

The  packet,  and  a  note  containing  a  few  re- 
marks on  the  Colonel's  calling  hours,  were  sent 
over  to  the  Colonel's  Wife,  who  wept  in  her  own 
room  and  took  counsel  with  herself. 

If  there  was  one  woman  under  Heaven  whom 
the  Colonel's  Wife  hated  with  holy  fervor,  it  was 
Mrs.  Larkyn.  Mrs.  Larkyn  was  a  frivolous  lady, 
and  called  the  Colonel's  Wife  "old  cat."  The 
Colonel's  Wife  said  that  somebody  in  Revelations 
was  remarkably  like  Mrs.  Larkyn.  She  men- 
tioned other  Scripture  people  as  well.  From  the 
Old  Testament.  But  the  Colonel's  Wife  was  the 
only  person  who  cared  or  dared  to  say  anything 
against  Mrs.  Larkyn.  Every  one  else  accepted 
her  as  an  amusing,  honest  little  body.  Where- 
fore, to  believe  that  her  husband  had  been  shed- 
ding watches  under  that  "Thing's  "  window  at 


124  Watches  of  the  Night 

ungodly  hours  coupled  with  the  fact  of  his  late 
arrival  on  the  previous  night,  was     .     .     . 

At  this  point  she  rose  up  and  sought  her  hus- 
band. He  denied  everything  except  the  owner- 
ship of  the  watch.  She  besought  him,  for  his 
Soul's  sake  to  speak  the  truth.  He  denied  afresh, 
with  two  bad  words.  Then  a  stony  silence  held 
the  Colonel's  Wife,  while  a  man  could  draw  his 
breath  five  times. 

The  speech  that  followed  is  no  affair  of  mine 
or  yours.  It  was  made  up  of  wifely  and  wom- 
anly jealousy;  knowledge  of  old  age  and  sunk 
cheeks;  deep  mistrust  born  of  the  text  that  says 
even  little  babies'  hearts  are  as  bad  as  they  make 
them;  rancorous  hatred  of  Mrs.  Larkyn,  and  the 
tenets  of  the  creed  of  the  Colonel's  Wife's  up- 
bringing. 

Over  and  above  all,  was  the  damning  lip- 
strapped  Waterbury,  ticking  away  in  the  palm  of 
her  shaking,  withered  hand.  At  that  hour,  1 
think,  the  Colonel's  Wife  realized  a  little  of  the 
restless  suspicion  she  had  injected  into  old 
Laplace's  mind,  a  little  of  poor  Miss  Haughtrey's 
misery,  and  some  of  the  canker  that  ate  into 
Buxton's  heart  as  he  watched  his  wife  dying  be- 
fore his  eyes.  The  Colonel  stammered  and  tried 
to  explain.  Then  he  remembered  that  his  watch 
had  disappeared;  and  the  mystery  grew  greater. 
The  Colonel's  Wife  talked  and  prayed  by  turns 


Watches  of  the  Night  i 2 5 

till  she  was  tired,  and  went  away  to  devise 
means  for  chastening  the  stubborn  heart  of  her 
husband.  Which,  translated,  means,  in  our 
slang,  "tail-twisting." 

Being  deeply  impressed  with  the  doctrine  of 
Original  Sin,  she  could  not  believe  in  the  face  of 
appearances.  She  knew  too  much,  and  jumped 
to  the  wildest  conclusions. 

But  it  was  good  for  her.  It  spoiled  her  life,  as 
she  had  spoiled  the  life  of  the  Laplaces.  She  had 
lost  her  faith  in  the  Colonel,  and— here  the  creed- 
suspicion  came  in— he  might,  she  argued,  have 
erred  many  times,  before  a  merciful  Providence, 
at  the  hands  of  so  unworthy  an  instrument  as 
Mrs.  Larkyn,  had  established  his  guilt.  He  was 
a  bad,  wicked,  grey-haired  profligate.  This  may 
sound  too  sudden  a  revulsion  for  a  long-wedded 
wife ;  but  it  is  a  venerable  fact  that,  if  a  man  or 
woman  makes  a  practice  of,  and  takes  a  delight 
in,  believing  and  spreading  evil  of  people  indif- 
ferent to  him  or  her,  he  or  she  will  end  in  be- 
lieving evil  of  folk  very  near  and  dear.  You  may 
think,  also,  that  the  mere  incident  of  the  watch 
was  too  small  and  trivial  to  raise  this  misunder- 
standing. It  is  another  aged  fact  that,  in  life  as 
well  as  racing,  all  the  worst  accidents  happen  at 
little  ditches  and  cut-down  fences.  In  the  same 
way,  you  sometimes  see  a  woman  who  would 
have  made  a  Joan  of  Arc  in  another  century  and 


126  Watches,  of  the  Night 

climate,  threshing  herself  to  pieces  over  all  the 
mean  worry  of  housekeeping.  But  that  is 
another  story. 

Her  belief  only  made  the  Colonel's  Wife  more 
wretched,  because  it  insisted  so  strongly  on  the 
villainy  of  men.  Remembering  what  she  had 
done,  it  was  pleasant  to  watch  her  unhappitieSS, 
and  the  penny-farthing  attempts  she  made  to 
hide  it  from  the  Station.  But  the  Station  knew 
and  laughed  heartlessly;  for  they  had  heard  the 
story  of  the  watch,  with  much  dramatic  gesture, 
from  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lips. 

Once  or  twice  Platte  said  to  Mrs.  Larkyn,  see- 
ing that  the  Colonel  had  not  cleared  himself, 
"This  thing  has  gone  far  enough.  I  move  we 
tell  the  Colonel's  Wife  how  it  happened."  Mrs. 
Larkyn  shut  her  lips  and  shook  her  head,  and 
vowed  that  the  Colonel's  Wife  must  bear  her 
punishment  as  best  she  could.  Now  Mrs.  Larkyn 
was  a  frivolous  woman,  in  whom  none  would 
have  suspected  deep  hate.  So  Platte  took  no 
action,  and  came  to  believe  gradually,  from  the 
Colonel's  silence,  that  the  Colonel  must  have  run 
off  the  line  somewhere  that  night,  and,  therefore, 
preferred  to  stand  sentence  on  the  lesser  count  of 
rambling  intp  other  people's  compounds  out  of 
calling-hours.  Platte  forgot  about  the  watch 
business  after  a  while,  and  moved  down-country 
with    his   regiment.      Mrs.    Larkyn    went   home 


Watches  of  the  Night  127 

when  her  husband's  tour  of  Indian  service  ex- 
pired.    She  never  forgot. 

But  Platte  was  quite  right  when  he  said  that  the 
joke  had  gone  too  far.  The  mistrust  and  the 
tragedy  of  it — which  we  outsiders  cannot  see  and 
do  not  believe  in — are  killing  the  Colonel's  Wife, 
and  are  making  the  Colonel  wretched.  If  either 
of  them  read  this  story,  they  can  depend  upon 
its  being  a  fairly  true  account  of  the  case,  and 
can  kiss  and  make  friends. 

Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  pleasure  of  watch- 
ing an  Engineer  being  shelled  by  his  own  Battery. 
Now  this  shows  that  poets  should  not  write 
about  what  they  do  not  understand.  Any  one 
could  have  told  him  that  Sappers  and  Gunners  are 
perfectly  different  branches  of  the  Service.  But, 
if  you  correct  the  sentence,  and  substitute  Gunner 
for  Sapper,  the  moral  comes  just  the  same. 


THE  OTHER  MAN 


THE  OTHER   MAN 

When  the  Earth  was  sick  and  the  Skies  were  grey 

And  the  woods  were  rotted  with  rain, 
The  Dead  Man  rode  through  the  autumn  day 

To  visit  his  love  again. 

—  Old  Ballad. 

FAR  back  in  the  "seventies,"  before  they  had 
built  any  Public-Offices  at  Simla,  and  the 
broad  road  round  Jakko  lived  in  a  pigeon-hole  in 
the  P.  W.  D.  hovels,  her  parents  made  Miss 
Gaurey  marry  Colonel  Schreiderling.  He  could 
not  have  been  much  more  than  thirty-five  years  her 
senior;  and,  as  he  lived  on  two  hundred  rupees 
a  month  and  had  money  of  his  own,  he  was  well 
off.  He  belonged  to  good  people,  and  suffered 
in  the  cold  weather  from  lung-complaints.  In 
the  hot  weather  he  dangled  on  the  brink  of  heat- 
apoplexy  ;  but  it  never  quite  killed  him. 

Understand,  I  do  not  blame  Schreiderling.  He 
was  a  good  husband  according  to  his  lights,  and 
his  temper  only  failed  him  when  he  was  being- 
nursed.  Which  was  some  seventeen  days  in 
each  month.  He  was  almost  generous  to  his 
wife  about  money-matters,  and  that,  for  him, 
was  a  concession.     Still  Mrs.  Schreiderling  was 

131 


1)2  The  Other  Man 

not  happy.  They  married  her  when  she  was 
this  side  of  twenty  and  had  given  all  her  poor 
little  heart  to  another  man.  I  have  forgotten  his 
name,  but  we  will  call  him  the  Other  Man.  He 
had  no  money  and  no  prospects.  He  was  not 
even  good-looking;  and  I  think  he  was  in  the 
Commissariat  or  Transport.  But,  in  spite  of  all 
these  things,  she  loved  him  very  badly;  and  there 
was  some  sort  of  an  engagement  between  the 
two  when  Schreiderling  appeared  and  told  Mrs. 
Gaurey  that  he  wished  to  marry  her  daughter. 
Then  the  other  engagement  was  broken  off — 
washed  away  by  Mrs.  Gaureys  tears,  for  that 
lady  governed  her  house  by  weeping  over  dis- 
obedience to  her  authority  and  the  lack  of  rever- 
ence she  received  in  her  old  age.  The  daughter 
did  not  take  after  her  mother.  She  never  cried. 
Not  even  at  the  wedding. 

The  Other  Man  bore  his  loss  quietly,  and  was 
transferred  to  as  bad  a  station  as  he  could  find. 
Perhaps  the  climate  consoled  him.  He  suffered 
from  intermittent  fever,  and  that  may  have  dis- 
tracted him  from  his  other  trouble.  He  was 
weak  about  the  heart  also.  Both  ways.  One  of 
the  valves  was  affected,  and  the  fever  made  it 
worse.     This  showed  itself  later  on. 

Then  many  months  passed,  and  Mrs.  Schreid- 
erling took  to  being  ill.  She  did  not  pine  away 
like  people  in   story-books,  but  she  seemed  to 


The  Other  Man  133 

pick  up  every  form  of  illness  that  went  about  a 
Station,  from  simple  fever  upwards.  She  was 
never  more  than  ordinarily  pretty  at  the  best  of 
times;  and  the  illnesses  made  her  ugly.  Schried- 
erling  said  so.  He  prided  himself  on  speaking 
his  mind. 

When  she  ceased  being  pretty,  he  left  her  to 
her  own  devices,  and  went  back  to  the  lairs  of 
his  bachelordom.  She  used  to  trot  up  and  down 
Simla  Mall  in  a  forlorn  sort  of  way,  with  a  grey  Terai 
hat  well  on  the  back  of  her  head,  and  a  shocking 
bad  saddle  under  her.  Schreiderling's  generosity 
stopped  at  the  horse.  He  said  that  any  saddle 
would  do  for  a  woman  as  nervous  as  Mrs.  Schreid- 
erling.  She  never  was  asked  to  dance,  because 
she  did  not  dance  well;  and  she  was  so  dull  and 
uninteresting,  that  her  box  very  seldom  had  any 
cards  in  it.  Schreiderling  said  that  if  he  had 
known  she  was  going  to  be  such  a  scarecrow 
after  her  marriage,  he  would  never  have  married 
her.  He  always  prided  himself  on  speaking  his 
mind,  did  Schreiderling. 

He  left  her  at  Simla  one  August,  and  went  down 
to  his  regiment.  Then  she  revived  a  little,  but 
she  never  recovered  her  looks.  I  found  out  at  the 
Club  that  the  Other  Man  was  coming  up  sick — 
very  sick — on  an  off  chance  of  recovery.  The 
fever  and  the  heart-valves  had  nearly  killed  him. 
She  knew  that  too,  and  she  knew — what  I  had 


134  The  Other  Man 

no  interest  in  knowing — when  he  was  coming  up. 
I  suppose  he  wrote  to  tell  her.  They  had  not 
seen  each  other  since  a  month  before  the  wed- 
ding. And  here  comes  the  unpleasant  part  of  the 
story. 

A  late  call  kept  me  down  at  the  Dovedell  Hotel 
till  dusk  one  evening.  Mrs.  Schreiderling  had 
been  flitting  up  and  down  the  Mall  all  the  after- 
noon in  the  rain.  Coming  up  along  the  Cart-road, 
a  tonga  passed  me,  and  my  pony,  tired  with 
standing  so  long,  set  off  at  a  canter.  Just  by  the 
road  down  to  the  Tonga  Office  Mrs.  Schreiderling, 
dripping  from  head  to  foot,  was  waiting  for  the 
tonga.  1  turned  uphill  as  the  tonga  was  no  affair 
of  mine;  and  just  then  she  began  to  shriek.  I 
went  back  at  once  and  saw,  under  the  Tonga 
Office  lamps,  Mrs.  Schreiderling  kneeling  in  the 
wet  road  by  the  back  seat  of  the  newly-arrived 
tonga,  screaming  hideously.  Then  she  fell  face 
down  in  the  dirt  as  1  came  up. 

Sitting  in  the  back  seat,  very  square  and  firm, 
with  one  hand  on  the  awning-stanchion  and  the 
wet  pouring  off  his  hat  and  moustache,  was  the 
Other  Man— dead.  The  sixty-mile  uphill  jolt 
had  been  too  much  for  his  valve,  I  suppose.  The 
tonga-driver  said,  "This  Sahib  died  two  stages 
out  of  Solon.  Therefore,  I  tied  him  with  a  rope, 
lest  he  should  fall  out  by  the  way,  and  SO  came 
to  Simla.     Will  the  Sahib  give  me  bukshish  ?    It," 


The  Other  Man  135 

pointing  to  the  Other  Man,  "  should  have  given 
one  rupee." 

The  Other  Man  sat  with  a  grin  on  his  face,  as 
if  he  enjoyed  the  joke  of  his  arrival;  and  Mrs. 
Schreiderling,  in  the  mud,  began  to  groan.  There 
was  no  one  except  us  four  in  the  office  and  it  was 
raining  heavily.  The  first  thing  was  to  take  Mrs. 
Schreiderling  home,  and  the  second  was  to  pre- 
vent her  name  from  being  mixed  up  with  the  af- 
fair. The  tonga-driver  received  five  rupees  to 
find  a  bazar  'rickshaw  for  Mrs.  Schreiderling.  He 
was  to  tell  the  Tonga  Babu  afterward  of  the  Other 
Man,  and  the  Babu  was  to  make  such  arrange- 
ments as  seemed  best. 

Mrs.  Schreiderling  was  carried  into  the  shed  out 
of  the  rain,  and  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  we 
two  waited  for  the  'rickshaw.  The  Other  Man 
was  left  exactly  as  he  had  arrived.  Mrs.  Schreid- 
erling would  do  everything  but  cry,  which  might 
have  helped  her.  She  tried  to  scream  as  soon  as 
her  senses  came  back,  and  then  she  began  pray- 
ing for  the  Other  Man's  soul.  Had  she  not  been 
as  honest  as  the  day,  she  would  have  prayed  for 
her  own  soul  too.  I  waited  to  hear  her  do  this, 
but  she  did  not.  Then  I  tried  to  get  some  of  the 
mud  off  her  habit.  Lastly,  the  'rickshaw  came, 
and  I  got  her  away — partly  by  force.  It  was  a 
terrible  business  from  beginning  to  end;  but  most 
of  all  when  the  'rickshaw  had  to  squeeze  between 


136  The  Other  Man 

the  wall  and  the  tonga,  and  she  saw  by  the  lamp- 
light that  thin,  yellow  hand  grasping  the  awning- 
stanchion. 

She  was  taken  home  just  as  every  one  was 
going  to  a  dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge — "  PeterhofT  " 
it  was  then — and  the  doctor  found  out  that  she- 
had  fallen  from  her  horse,  that  I  had  picked  her 
up  at  the  back  of  Jakko,  and  really  deserved  great 
credit  for  the  prompt  manner  in  which  I  had  se- 
cured medical  aid.  She  did  not  die — men  of 
Schreiderling's  stamp  marry  women  who  don't 
die  easily.     They  live  and  grow  ugly. 

She  never  told  of  her  one  meeting,  since  her 
marriage,  with  the  Other  Man;  and,  when  the 
chill  and  cough  following  the  exposure  of  that 
evening,  allowed  her  abroad,  she  never  by  word 
or  sign  alluded  to  having  met  me  by  the  Tonga 
Office.     Perhaps  she  never  knew. 

She  used  to  trot  up  and  down  the  Mall,  on  that 
shocking  bad  saddle,  looking  as  if  she  expected 
to  meet  some  one  round  the  corner  every  minute. 
Two  years  afterward  she  went  Home,  and  died — 
at  Bournemouth,  I  think. 

Schreiderling,  when  he  grew  maudlin  at  Mess, 
used  to  talk  about  "  my  poor  dear  wife."  He  al- 
ways set  great  store  on  speaking  his  mind,  did 
Schreiderling. 


CONSEQUENCES 


CONSEQUENCES 

Rosicrucian  subtleties 

In  the  Orient  had  rise ; 

Ye  may  find  their  teachers  still 

Under  Jacatala's  Hill. 

Seek  ye  Bombast  Paracelsus, 

Read  what  Flood  the  Seeker  tells  us 

Of  the  Dominant  that  runs 

Through  the  Cycles  of  the  Suns  — 

Read  my  story  last,  and  see 

Luna  at  her  apogee. 

THERE  are  yearly  appointments,  and  two- 
yearly  appointments,  and  five-yearly  ap- 
pointments at  Simla,  and  there  are,  or  used  to  be, 
permanent  appointments,  whereon  you  stayed  up 
for  the  term  of  your  natural  life  and  secured  red 
cheeks  and  a  nice  income.  Of  course,  you  could 
descend  in  the  cold  weather;  for  Simla  is  rather 
dull  then. 

Tarrion  came  from  goodness  knows  where — 
all  away  and  away  in  some  forsaken  part  of 
Central  India,  where  they  call  Pachmari  a  Sani- 
tarium, and  drive  behind  trotting-bullocks,  I  be- 
lieve. He  belonged  to  a  regiment;  but  what  he 
really  wanted  to  do  was  to  escape  from  his  regi- 
ment and  live  in  Simla  forever  and   ever.     He 

139 


140  Consequences 

had  no  preference  for  anything  in  particular,  be- 
yond a  good  horse  and  a  nice  partner.  He 
thought  he  could  do  everything  well;  which  is  a 
beautiful  belief  when  you  hold  it  with  all  your 
heart.  He  was  clever  in  many  ways,  and  good 
to  look  at,  and  always  made  people  round  him 
comfortable — even  in  Central  India. 

So  he  went  up  to  Simla,  and,  because  he  was 
clever  and  amusing,  he  gravitated  naturally  to 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  who  could  forgive  everything 
but  stupidity.  Once  he  did  her  great  service 
by  changing  the  date  on  an  invitation-card  for  a 
big  dance  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  wished  to  at- 
tend, but  couldn't  because  she  had  quarreled 
with  the  A.-D.-C,  who  took  care,  being  a  mean 
man,  to  invite  her  to  a  small  dance  on  the  6th  in- 
stead of  the  big  Ball  of  the  26th.  It  was  a  very 
clever  piece  of  forgery;  and  when  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee showed  the  A.-D.-C,  her  invitation-card, 
and  chaffed  him  mildly  for  not  better  managing 
his  vendettas,  he  really  thought  that  he  had  made 
a  mistake;  and — which  was  wise — realized  that 
it  was  no  use  to  fight  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She 
'was  grateful  to  Tarrion  and  asked  what  she 
could  do  for  him.  He  said  simply,  "  I'm  a  Free- 
lance up  here  on  leave,  on  the  lookout  for  what 
I  can  loot.  I  haven't  a  square  inch  of  interesi  in 
all  Simla.  My  name  isn't  known  to  any  man 
with  an  appointment  in   his  gift,  and  I  want  an 


Consequences  141 

appointment — a  good,  sound  one.  I  believe  you 
can  do  anything  you  turn  yourself  to.  Will  you 
help  me  ?  "  Mrs.  Hauksbee  thought  for  a  minute, 
and  passed  the  lash  of  her  riding-whip  through 
her  lips,  as  was  her  custom  when  thinking. 
Then  her  eyes  sparkled  and  she  said,  "I  will;" 
and  she  shook  hands  on  it.  Tarrion,  having  per- 
fect confidence  in  this  great  woman,  took  no 
further  thought  of  the  business  at  all.  Except  to 
wonder  what  sort  of  an  appointment  he  would 
win. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  calculating  the  prices  of 
all  the  Heads  of  Departments  and  Members  of 
Council  she  knew,  and  the  more  she  thought  the 
more  she  laughed,  because  her  heart  was  in  the 
game  and  it  amused  her.  Then  she  took  a  Civil 
List  and  ran  over  a  few  of  the  appointments. 
There  are  some  beautiful  appointments  in  the 
Civil  List.  Eventually,  she  decided  that,  though 
Tarrion  was  too  good  for  the  Political  Depart- 
ment, she  had  better  begin  by  trying  to  place 
him  there.  Her  own  plans  to  this  end  do  not 
matter  in  the  least,  for  Luck  or  Fate  played  into 
her  hands  and  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch 
the  course  of  events  and  take  the  credit  of  them. 

All  Viceroys,  when  they  first  come  out,  pass 
through  the  Diplomatic  Secrecy  craze.  It  wears 
off  in  time;  but  they  all  catch  it  in  the  beginning, 
because  they  are  new  to  the  country.     The  par- 


142  Consequences 

ticular  Viceroy  who  was  suffering  from  the  com- 
plaint just  then — this  was  a  long  time  ago,  before 
Lord  Dufferin  ever  came  from  Canada,  or  Lord 
Ripon  from  the  bosom  of  the  English  Church — 
had  it  very  badly;  and  the  result  was  that  men 
who  were  new  to  keeping  official  secrets  went 
about  looking  unhappy;  and  the  Viceroy  plumed 
himself  on  the  way  in  which  he  had  instilled 
notions  of  reticence  into  his  Staff. 

Now,  the  Supreme  Government  have  a  care- 
less custom  of  committing  what  they  do  to 
printed  papers.  These  papers  deal  with  all  sorts 
of  things — from  the  payment  of  Rs.200  to  a 
"secret  service"  native,  up  to  rebukes  admin- 
istered to  Vakils  and  Motamids  of  Native  States, 
and  rather  brusque  letters  to  Native  Princes, 
telling  them  to  put  their  houses  in  order,  to  re- 
frain from  kidnapping  women,  or  filling  offend- 
ers with  pounded  red  pepper,  and  eccentricities 
of  that  kind.  Of  course,  these  things  could 
never  be  made  public,  because  Native  Princes 
never  err  officially,  and  their  States  are  officially 
as  well  administered  as  Our  territories.  Also, 
the  private  allowances  to  various  queer  people 
are  not  exactly  matters  to  put  into  newspapers, 
though  they  give  quaint  reading  sometimes. 
When  the  Supreme  Government  is  at  Simla, 
these  papers  are  prepared  there,  and  go  round  to 
the  people  who  ought  to  see  them  in  office-boxes 


Consequences  1 4  3 

or  by  post.  The  principle  of  secrecy  was  to  that 
Viceroy  quite  as  important  as  the  practice,  and 
he  held  that  a  benevolent  despotism  like  Ours 
should  never  allow  even  little  things,  such  as  ap- 
pointments of  subordinate  clerks,  to  leak  out  till 
the  proper  time.  He  was  always  remarkable  for 
his  principles. 

There  was  a  very  important  batch  of  papers  in 
preparation  at  that  time.  It  had  to  travel  from 
one  end  of  Simla  to  the  other  by  hand.  It  was 
not  put  into  an  official  envelope,  but  a  large, 
square,  pale  pink  one;  the  matter  being  in  MS. 
on  soft  crinkley  paper.  It  was  addressed  to 
"The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc."  Now,  between 
"The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc."  and  "Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee"  and  a  flourish,  is  no  very  great  difference,  if 
'he  address  be  written  in  a  very  bad  hand,  as  this 
was.  The  orderly  who  took  the  envelope  was 
not  more  of  an  idiot  than  most  orderlies.  He 
merely  forgot  where  this  most  unofficial  cover 
was  to  be  delivered,  and  so  asked  the  first  Eng- 
lishman he  met,  who  happened  to  be  a  man  rid- 
ing down  to  Annandale  in  a  great  hurry.  The 
Englishman  hardly  looked  at  it,  said,  "Mrs. 
Hauksbee,"  and  went  on.  So  did  the  orderly, 
because  that  letter  was  the  last  in  stock  and  he 
wanted  to  get  his  work  over.  There  was  no 
book  to  sign ;  he  thrust  the  letter  into  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee's  bearer's  hands  and  went  off  to  smoke  with 


144  Consequences 

a  friend.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  expecting  some 
cut-out  pattern  things  in  flimsy  paper  from  a 
friend.  As  soon  as  she  got  the  big  square  packet, 
therefore,  she  said,  "Oh,  the  dear  creature!  "  and 
tore  it  open  with  a  paper-knife,  and  all  the  MS. 
enclosures  tumbled  out  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  reading.  I  have  said  the 
batch  was  rather  important.  That  is  quite 
enough  for  you  to  know.  It  referred  to  some 
correspondence,  two  measures,  a  peremptory 
order  to  a  native  chief  and  two  dozen  other 
things.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gasped  as  she  read,  for 
the  first  glimpse  of  the  naked  machinery  of  the 
Great  Indian  Government,  stripped  of  its  casings, 
and  lacquer,  and  paint,  and  guard-rails,  impresses 
even  the  most  stupid  man.  And  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee was  a  clever  woman.  She  was  a  little  afraid 
at  first,  and  felt  as  if  she  had  taken  hold  of  a 
lightning-flash  by  the  tail,  and  did  not  quite  know 
what  to  do  with  it.  There  were  remarks  and 
initials  at  the  side  of  the  papers;  and  some  of  the 
remarks  were  rather  more  severe  than  the  papers. 
The  initials  belonged  to  men  who  are  all  dead  or 
gone  now;  but  they  were  great  in  their  day. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  read  on  and  thought  calmly  as  she 
read.  Then  the  value  of  her  trove  struck  her, 
and  she  cast  about  for  the  best  method  of  using 
it.  Then  Tarrion  dropped  in,  and  they  read 
through  all  the  papers  together,  and  Tarrion,  not 


Consequences  145 

knowing  how  she  had  come  by  them,  vowed 
that  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  the  greatest  woman  on 
earth.     Which  I  believe  was  true  or  nearly  so. 

"The  honest  course  is  always  the  best,"  said 
Tarrion  after  an  hour  and  a  half  of  study  and 
conversation.  "  All  things  considered,  the  Intel- 
ligence Branch  is  about  my  form.  Either  that  or 
the  Foreign  Office.  1  go  to  lay  siege  to  the  High 
Gods  in  their  Temples." 

He  did  not  seek  a  little  man,  or  a  little  big  man, 
or  a  weak  Head  of  a  strong  Department,  but  he 
called  on  the  biggest  and  strongest  man  that  the 
Government  owned,  and  explained  that  he 
wanted  an  appointment  at  Simla  on  a  good  salary. 
The  compound  insolence  of  this  amused  the 
Strong  Man,  and,  as  he  had  nothing  to  do  for  the 
moment,  he  listened  to  the  proposals  of  the  au- 
dacious Tarrion.  "  You  have,  I  presume,  some 
special  qualifications,  besides  the  gift  of  self- 
assertion,  for  the  claims  you  put  forward  ?"  said 
the  Strong  Man.  "That,  Sir,"  said  Tarrion,  "is 
for  you  to  judge."  Then  he  began,  for  he  had  a 
good  memory,  quoting  a  few  of  the  more  im- 
portant notes  in  the  papers — slowly  and  one  by 
one  as  a  man  drops  chlorodyne  into  a  glass. 
When  he  had  reached  the  peremptory  order — and 
it  was  a  very  peremptory  order — the  Strong  Man 
was  troubled.  Tarrion  wound  up — "And  I 
fancy  that  special  knowledge  of  this  kind  is  at 


146  Consequences 

least  as  valuable  for,  let  us  say,  a  berth  in  the 
Foreign  Office,  as  the  fact  of  being  the  nephew 
of  a  distinguished  officer's  wife."  That  hit  the 
Strong  Man  hard,  for  the  last  appointment  to  the 
Foreign  Office  had  been  by  black  favor,  and  he 
knew  it. 

"I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  the 
Strong  Man. 

"Many  thanks,"  said  Tarrion.  Then  he  left, 
and  the  Strong  Man  departed  to  see  how  the  ap- 
pointment was  to  be  blocked. 


Followed  a  pause  of  eleven  days;  with  thun- 
ders and  lightnings  and  much  telegraphing.  The 
appointment  was  not  a  very  important  one, 
carrying  only  between  Rs.500  and  Rs.700  a 
month;  but,  as  the  Viceroy  said,  it  was  the  prin- 
ciple of  diplomatic  secrecy  that  had  to  be  main- 
tained, and  it  was  more  than  likely  that  a  boy  so 
well  supplied  with  special  information  would  be 
worth  translating.  So  they  translated  Tarrion. 
They  must  have  suspected  him,  though  he  pro- 
tested that  his  information  was  due  to  singular 
talents  of  his  own.  Now,  much  of  this  story,  in- 
cluding the  after-history  of  the  missing  envelope, 
you  must  fill  in  for  yourself,  because  there  are 
reasons  why  it  cannot  be  written.  If  you  do  not 
know  about  things  Up  Above,  you  won't  un- 


Consequences  147 

derstand  how  to  fill  in,  and  you  will  say  it  is 
impossible. 

What  the  Viceroy  said  when  Tarrion  was  in- 
troduced to  him  was — "This  is  the  boy  who 
'  rushed  '  the  Government  of  India,  is  it  ?  Recol- 
lect, Sir,  that  is  not  done  twice."  So  he  must 
have  known  something. 

What  Tarrion  said  when  he  saw  his  appoint- 
ment gazetted  was — "If  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were 
twenty  years  younger,  and  I  her  husband,  I 
should  be  Viceroy  of  India  in  fifteen  years." 

What  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said,  when  Tarrion 
thanked  her,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  was 
first — "I  told  you  so!"  and  next,  to  herself— 
"  What  fools  men  are!  " 


THE  CONVERSION 
OF  AURELIAN  McGOGGIN 


THE  CONVERSION 
OF  AURELIAN  McGOGGIN 

Ride  with  an  idle  whip,  ride  with  an  unused  heel. 
But,  once  in  a  way,  there  will  come  a  day 
When  the  colt  must  be  taught  to  feel 
The  lash  that  falls,  and  the  curb  that  galls,  and  the  sting  of  the 
rowelled  steel. 

— Life's  Handicap. 

THIS  is  not  a  tale  exactly.     It  is  a  Tract;  and 
I  am  immensely  proud  of  it.     Making  a 
Tract  is  a  Feat. 

Every  man  is  entitled  to  his  own  religious 
opinions;  but  no  man— least  of  all  a  junior— has 
a  right  to  thrust  these  down  other  men's  throats. 
The  Government  sends  out  weird  Civilians  now 
and  again;  but  McGoggin  was  the  queerest  ex- 
ported for  a  long  time.  He  was  clever — bril- 
liantly clever — but  his  cleverness  worked  the 
wrong  way.  Instead  of  keeping  to  the  study 
of  the  vernaculars,  he  had  read  some  books  writ- 
ten by  a  man  called  Comte,  I  think,  and  a  man 
called  Spencer.  [You  will  find  these  books  in 
the  Library.]  They  deal  with  people's  insides 
from  the  point  of  view  of  men  who  have  no 
stomachs.     There  was  no  order  against  his  read- 

151 


i  S2  The  Conversion  of  Anrclian  McGoggin 

ing  them;  but  his  Mamma  should  have  smacked 
him.  They  fermented  in  his  head,  and  he  came 
out  to  India  with  a  rarefied  religion  over  and 
above  his  work.  It  was  not  much  of  a  creed. 
It  only  proved  that  men  had  no  souls,  and  there 
was  no  God  and  no  hereafter,  and  that  you  must 
worry  along  somehow  for  the  good  of  Humanity. 

One  of  its  minor  tenets  seemed  to  be  that  the 
one  thing  more  sinful  than  giving  an  order  was 
obeying  it.  At  least,  that  was  what  McGoggin 
said;  but  I  suspect  he  had  misread  his  primers. 

I  do  not  say  a  word  against  this  creed.  It  was 
made  up  in  Town  where  there  is  nothing  but 
machinery  and  asphalte  and  building— all  shut  in 
by  the  fog.  Naturally,  a  man  grows  to  think 
that  there  is  no  one  higher  than  himself,  and  that 
the  Metropolitan  Board  of  Works  made  every- 
thing. But  in  India,  where  you  really  see  hu- 
manity— raw,  brown,  naked  humanity — with 
nothing  between  it  and  the  blazing  sky,  and 
only  the  used-up,  over-handled  earth  underfoot, 
the  notion  somehow  dies  away,  and  most  folk 
come  back  to  simpler  theories.  Life,  in  India,  is 
not  long  enough  to  waste  in  proving  that  there  is 
no  one  in  particular  at  the  head  <>f  affairs.  For 
this  reason.  The  Deputy  is  above  the  Assistant, 
the  Commissioner  above  the  Deputy,  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor above  the  Commissioner,  and 
the  Viceroy  above  all   four,  under  the  orders  of 


The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin         153 

the  Secretary  of  State  who  is  responsible  to  the 
Empress.  If  the  Empress  be  not  responsible  to 
her  Maker — if  there  is  no  Maker  for  her  to  be  re- 
sponsible to — the  entire  system  of  Our  adminis- 
tration must  be  wrong.  Which  is  manifestly 
impossible.  At  Home  men  are  to  be  excused. 
They  are  stalled  up  a  good  deal  and  get  intel- 
lectually "beany."  When  you  take  a  gross, 
"beany"  horse  to  exercise,  he  slavers  and  slob- 
bers over  the  bit  till  you  can't  see  the  horns. 
But  the  bit  is  there  just  the  same.  Men  do  not 
get  "beany"  in  India.  The  climate  and  the 
work  are  against  playing  bricks  with  words. 

If  McGoggin  had  kept  his  creed,  with  the  cap- 
ital letters  and  the  endings  in  "isms,"  to  him- 
self, no  one  would  have  cared;  but  his  grand- 
fathers on  both  sides  had  been  Wesleyan  preach- 
ers, and  the  preaching  strain  came  out  in  his 
mind.  He  wanted  every  one  at  the  Club  to  see 
that  they  had  no  souls  too,  and  to  help  him  to 
eliminate  his  Creator.  As  a  good  many  men 
told  him,  he  undoubtedly  had  no  soul,  because 
he  was  so  young,  but  it  did  not  follow  that  his 
seniors  were  equally  undeveloped;  and,  whether 
there  was  another  world  or  not,  a  man  still 
wanted  to  read  his  papers  in  this.  "But  that 
is  not  the  point — that  is  not  the  point!  "  Aurelian 
used  to  say.  Then  men  threw  sofa-cushions  at 
him  and  told  him  to  go  to  any  particular  place 


154         The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin 

he  might  believe  in.  They  christened  him  the 
"  Blastoderm," — he  said  he  came  from  a  family 
of  that  name  somewhere,  in  the  prehistoric  ages, 
— and,  by  insult  and  laughter  strove  to  choke 
him  dumb,  for  he  was  an  unmitigated  nuisance 
at  the  Club;  besides  being  an  offence  to  the  older 
men.  His  Deputy  Commissioner,  who  was  work- 
ing on  the  Frontier  when  Aurelian  was  rolling  on 
a  bed-quilt,  told  him  that,  for  a  clever  boy,  Aure- 
lian was  a  very  big  idiot.  And,  if  he  had  gone 
on  with  his  work,  he  would  have  been  caught 
up  to  the  Secretariat  in  a  few  years.  He  was  of 
the  type  that  goes  there — all  head,  no  physique 
and  a  hundred  theories.  Not  a  soul  was  inter- 
ested in  McGoggin's  soul.  He  might  have  had 
two,  or  none,  or  somebody  else's.  His  business 
was  to  obey  orders  and  keep  abreast  of  his  tiles, 
instead  of  devastating  the  Club  with  "  isms. " 

He  worked  brilliantly;  but  he  could  not  accept 
any  order  without  trying  to  better  it.  That  was 
the  fault  of  his  creed.  It  made  men  too  respon- 
sible and  left  too  much  to  their  honor.  You  can 
sometimes  ride  an  old  horse  in  a  halter;  but 
never  a  colt.  McGoggin  took  more  trouble  over 
his  cases  than  any  of  the  men  of  his  year.  He 
may  have  fancied  that  thirty-page  judgments  on 
fifty-rupee  cases — both  sides  perjured  to  the  gul- 
let— advanced  the  cause  of  Humanity.  At  any 
rate,    he   worked   too   much,    and  worried   and 


The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin         155 

fretted  over  the  rebukes  he  received,  and  lectured 
away  on  his  ridiculous  creed  out  of  office,  till 
the  Doctor  had  to  warn  him  that  he  was  over- 
doing it.  No  man  can  toil  eighteen  annas  in  the 
rupee  in  June  without  suffering.  But  McGoggin 
was  still  intellectually  "beany "  and  proud  of 
himself  and  his  powers,  and  he  would  take  no 
hint.     He  worked  nine  hours  a  day  steadily. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "you'll  break 
down,  because  you  are  over-engined  for  your 
beam."    McGoggin  was  a  little  man. 

One  day,  the  collapse  came — as  dramatically 
as  if  it  had  been  meant  to  embellish  a  Tract. 

It  was  just  before  the  Rains.  We  were  sitting 
in  the  veranda  in  the  dead,  hot,  close  air,  gasp- 
ing and  praying  that  the  black-blue  clouds  would 
let  down  and  bring  the  cool.  Very,  very  far 
away,  there  was  a  faint  whisper,  which  was  the 
roar  of  the  Rains  breaking  over  the  river.  One 
of  the  men  heard  it,  got  out  of  his  chair,  listened 
4nd  said,  naturally  enough,  "Thank  God!" 

Then  the  Blastoderm  turned  in  his  place  and 
Raid,  "Why?  I  assure  you  it's  only  the  result  of 
perfectly  natural  causes — atmospheric  phenomena 
of  the  simplest  kind.  Why  you  should,  there- 
fore, return  thanks  to  a  Being  who  never  did  ex- 
ist— who  is  only  a  figment " — 

"Blastoderm,"  grunted  the  man  in  the  next 
chair,  "dry  up,  and  throw  me  over  the  Pioneer. 


156  The  Conversion  of  Auretian  McGoggin 

We  know  all  about  your  figments."  The  Blasto- 
derm reached  out  to  the  table,  took  up  one  paper, 

and  jumped  as  if  something  had  stung  him. 
Then  he  handed  the  paper. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  he  went  on  slowly  and 
with  an  effort — "due  to  perfectly  natural  causes 
— perfectly  natural  causes.     1  mean" — 

••  Hi!  Blastoderm,  you've  given  me  the  Calcutta 
Mercantile  Advertiser." 

The  dust  got  up  in  little  whorls,  while  the  tree- 
tops  rocked  and  the  kites  whistled.  But  no  one 
was  looking  at  the  coming  of  the  Rains.  We 
were  all  staring  at  the  Blastoderm  who  had  risen 
from  his  chair  and  was  fighting  with  his  speech. 
Then  he  said,  still  more  slowly  — 

"  Perfectly   conceivable dictionary red 

oak amenable cause retaining shut- 
tlecock  alone." 

"  Blastoderm's  drunk,"  said  one  man.  But  the 
Blastoderm  was  not  drunk.  He  looked  at  us  in 
a  dazed  sort  of  wav,  and  began  motioning  with 
his  hands  in  the  half  light  as  the  clouds  closed 
over-head.     Then — with  a  scream  — 

"What  is  it? Can't reserve attain- 
able  market obscure  " 

But  his  speech  seemed  to  freeze  in  him,  and — 
just  as  the  lightning  shot  two  tongues  that  cut 
the  whole  sky  into  three  pieces  and  the  rain  fell 
in  quivering  sheets — the  Blastoderm  Was  struck 


The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin         157 

dumb.  He  stood  pawing  and  champing  like  a 
hard-held  horse,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  terror. 

The  Doctor  came  over  in  three  minutes,  and 
heard  the  story.  "  Its  aphasia,"  he  said.  "  Take 
him  to  his  room.  I  knew  the  smash  would 
come."  We  carried  the  Blastoderm  across  in  the 
pouring  rain  to  his  quarters,  and  the  Doctor  gave 
him  bromide  of  potassium  to  make  him  sleep. 

Then  the  Doctor  came  back  to  us  and  told  us 
that  aphasia  was  like  all  the  arrears  of  "  Punjab 
Head"  falling  in  a  lump;  and  that  only  once  be- 
fore— in  the  case  of  a  sepoy — had  he  met  with  so 
complete  a  case.  I  have  seen  mild  aphasia  in  an 
overworked  man,  but  this  sudden  dumbness  was 
uncanny — though,  as  the  Blastoderm  himself 
might  have  said,  due  to  "perfectly  natural 
causes." 

"He'll  have  to  take  leave  after  this,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "  He  won't  be  fit  for  work  for  another 
three  months.  No;  it  isn't  insanity  or  anything 
like  it.  It's  only  complete  loss  of  control  over 
the  speech  and  memory.  I  fancy  it  will  keep  the 
Blastoderm  quiet,  though." 

Two  days  later,  the  Blastoderm  found  his 
tongue  again.  The  first  question  he  asked  was 
— "What  was  it?"  The  Doctor  enlightened 
him.  "But  I  can't  understand  it!"  said  the 
Blastoderm.  "  I'm  quite  sane;  but  I  can't  be  sure 
of  my  mind,  it  seems — my  own  memory — can  I  ?" 


158         The  ('.onvcrsion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin 

"Go  up  into  the  Hills  for  three  months,  and 
don't  think  about  it,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  But  1  can't  understand  it,"  repeated  the  Blas- 
toderm.    "  It  was  my  own  mind  and  memory." 

"1  can't  help  it,"  said  the  Doctor;  "there  are 
a  good  many  things  you  can't  understand;  and, 
by  the  time  you  have  put  in  my  length  of  service, 
you'll  know  exactly  how  much  a  man  dare  call 
his  own  in  this  world." 

The  stroke  cowed  the  Blastoderm.  He  could 
not  understand  it.  He  went  into  the  Hills  in  fear 
and  trembling,  wondering  whether  he  would  be 
permitted  to  reach  the  end  of  any  sentence  he 
began. 

This  gave  him  a  wholesome  feeling  of  mis- 
trust. The  legitimate  explanation,  that  he  had 
been  overworking  himself,  failed  to  satisfy  him. 
Something  had  wiped  his  lips  of  speech,  as  a 
mother  wipes  the  milky  lips  of  her  child,  and  he 
was  afraid — horribly  afraid. 

So  the  Club  had  rest  when  he  returned;  and  if 
ever  you  come  across  Aurelian  McGoggin  laying 
down  the  law  on  things  Human — he  doesn't 
seem  to  know  as  much  as  he  used  to  about  things 
Divine — put  your  forefinger  to  your  lip  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  see  what  happens. 

Don't  blame  me  if  he  throws  a  glass  at  your 
head. 


A  GERM-DESTROYER 


A  GERM-DESTROYER 

Pleasant  it  is  for  the  Little  Tin  Gods 

When  great  Jove  nods  ; 
But  Little  Tin  Gods  make  their  little  mistakes 
In  missing  the  hour  when  great  Jove  wakes. 

AS  a  general  rule,  it  is  inexpedient  to  meddle 
with  questions  of  State  in  a  land  where 
men  are  highly  paid  to  work  them  out  for  you. 
This  tale  is  a  justifiable  exception. 

Once  in  every  five  years,  as  you  know,  we  in- 
dent for  a  new  Viceroy;  and  each  Viceroy  im- 
ports, with  the  rest  of  his  baggage,  a  Private 
Secretary,  who  may  or  may  not  be  the  real  Vice- 
roy, just  as  Fate  ordains.  Fate  looks  after  the 
Indian  Empire  because  it  is  so  big  and  so  help- 
less. 

There  was  a  Viceroy  once,  who  brought  out 
with  him  a  turbulent  Private  Secretary — a  hard 
man  with  a  soft  manner  and  a  morbid  passion 
for  work.  This  Secretary  was  called  Wonder — 
John  Fennil  Wonder.  The  Viceroy  possessed  no 
name — nothing  but  a  string  of  counties  and  two- 
thirds  of  the  alphabet  after  them.  He  said,  in 
confidence,  that  he  was  the 'electro-plated  figure- 
head of  a  golden  administration,  and  he  watched 

101 


i6a  A  Germ-Destroyer 

in  a  dreamy,  amused  way  Wonder's  attempts  to 
draw  matters  which  were  entirely  outside  his 
province  into  his  own  hands.  "When  we  are 
all  cherubims  together,"  said  His  Excellency 
once,  "my  dear,  good  friend  Wonder  will  head 
the  conspiracy  for  plucking  out  Gabriel's  tail- 
feathers  or  stealing  Peter's  keys.  Then  1  shall 
report  him." 

But,  though  the  Viceroy  did  nothing  to  check 
Wonder's  officiousness,  other  people  said  un- 
pleasant things.  Maybe  the  Members  of  Coun- 
cil began  it;  but,  finally  all  Simla  agreed  that  there 
was  "too  much  Wonder,  and  too  little  Viceroy" 
in  that  rule.  Wonder  was  always  quoting  "His 
Excellency."  It  was  "His  Excellency  this," 
"His  Excellency  that,"  "In  the  opinion  of  His 
Excellency,"  and  so  on.  The  Viceroy  smiled; 
but  he  did  not  heed.  He  said  that,  so  long  as  his 
old  men  squabbled  with  his  "  dear,  good  Won- 
der," they  might  be  induced  to  leave  the  Im- 
memorial East  in  peace. 

"No  wise  man  has  a  Policy,"  said  the  Viceroy. 
"  A  Policy  is  the  blackmail  levied  on  the  Fool  by 
the  Unforeseen.  I  am  not  the  former,  and  1  do 
not  believe  in  the  latter." 

1  do  not  quite  see  what  this  means,  unless  it 
refers  to  an  Insurance  Policy.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
Viceroy's  way  of  saying,  "  Lie  low." 

That  season,   came  up  to  Simla  one  of  these 


A  Germ-Destroyer  163 

crazy  people  with  only  a  single  idea.  These  are 
the  men  who  make  things  move;  but  they  are 
not  nice  to  talk  to.  This  man's  name  was 
Mellish,  and  he  had  lived  for  fifteen  years  on  land 
of  his  own,  in  Lower  Bengal,  studying  cholera. 
He  held  that  cholera  was  a  germ  that  propagated 
itself  as  it  flew  through  a  muggy  atmosphere; 
and  stuck  in  the  branches  of  trees  like  a  wool- 
flake.  The  germ  could  be  rendered  sterile,  he 
said,  by  "  Mellish's  Own  Invincible  Fumigatory  " 
— a  heavy  violet-black  powder — "  the  result  of 
fifteen  years'  scientific  investigation,  Sir!" 

Inventors  seem  very  much  alike  as  a  caste. 
They  talk  loudly,  especially  about  "conspiracies 
of  monopolists";  they  beat  upon  the  table  with 
their  fists;  and  they  secrete  fragments  of  their 
inventions  about  their  persons. 

Mellish  said  that  there  was  a  Medical  "Ring" 
at  Simla,  headed  by  the  Surgeon-General,  who 
was  in  league,  apparently,  with  all  the  Hospital 
Assistants  in  the  Empire.  I  forget  exactly  how 
he  proved  it,  but  it  had  something  to  do  with 
"skulking  up  to  the  Hills";  and  what  Mellish 
wanted  was  the  independent  evidence  of  the 
Viceroy — "Steward  of  our  Most  Gracious  Maj- 
esty the  Queen,  Sir."  So  Mellish  went  up  to 
Simla,  with  eighty-four  pounds  of  Fumigatory  in 
his  trunk,  to  speak  to  the  Viceroy  and  to  show 
him  the  merits  of  the  invention. 


164  A  Germ-Destroyer 

But  it  is  easier  to  see  a  Viceroy  than  to  talk  to 
him,  unless  you  chance  to  be  as  important  as 
Mellishe  of  Madras.  He  was  a  six-thousand- 
rupee  man,  so  great  that  his  daughters  never 
"married."  They  "contracted  alliances."  He 
himself  was  not  paid.  He  "  received  emolu- 
ments,'' and  his  journeys  about  the  country  were 
"tours  of  observation.''  His  business  was  to 
stir  up  the  people  in  Madras  with  a  long  pole — 
as  you  stir  up  tench  in  a  pond — and  the  people 
had  to  come  up  out  of  their  comfortable  old  ways 
and  gasp — "This  is  Enlightenment  and  Progress. 
Isn't  it  fine!"  Then  they  gave  Mellishe  statues 
and  jasmine  garlands,  in  the  hope  of  getting  rid 
of  him. 

Mellishe  came  up  to  Simla  "to  confer  with  the 
Viceroy."  That  was  one  of  his  perquisites.  The 
Viceroy  knew  nothing  of  Mellishe  except  that  he 
was  "one  of  those  middle-class  deities  who 
seem  necessary  to  the  spiritual  comfort  of  this 
Paradise  of  the  Middle-classes,"  and  that,  in 
all  probability,  he  had  "suggested,  designed, 
founded,  and  endowed  all  the  public  institutions 
in  Madras."  Which  proves  that  His  Excellency, 
though  dreamy,  had  experience  of  the  ways  of 
six-thousand-rupee  men. 

Mellishe's  name  was  E.  Mellishe.  and  Mcliish's 
was  1:.  S.  Mellish,  and  they  were  both  staying  at 
the  same  hotel,  and  the  Fate  that  looks  after  the 


A  Germ-Destroyer  165 

Indian  Empire  ordained  that  Wonder  should 
blunder  and  drop  the  final  "<?";that  the  Chap- 
rassi  should  help  him,  and  that  the  note  which 
ran: 

Dear  Mr.  Mellish,— Can  you  set  aside  your  other  engage- 
ments, and  lunch  with  us  at  two  to-morrow  ?  His  Excellency 
has  an  hour  at  your  disposal  then, 

should  be  given  to  Mellish  with  the  Fumigatory. 
He  nearly  wept  with  pride  and  delight,  and  at 
the  appointed  hour  cantered  to  Peterhoff,  a  big 
paper-bag  full  of  the  Fumigatory  in  his  coat-tail 
pockets.  He  had  his  chance,  and  he  meant  to 
make  the  most  of  it.  Mellishe  of  Madras  had 
been  so  portentously  solemn  about  his  "  confer- 
ence," that  Wonder  had  arranged  for  a  private 
tiffin,— no  A.-D.-C.'s,  no  Wonder,  no  one  but  the 
Viceroy,  who  said  plaintively  that  he  feared  be- 
ing left  alone  with  unmuzzled  autocrats  like  the 
great  Mellishe  of  Madras. 

But  his  guest  did  not  bore  the  Viceroy.  On 
the  contrary,  he  amused  him.  Mellish  was  nerv- 
ously anxious  to  go  straight  to  his  Fumigatory, 
and  talked  at  random  until  tiffin  was  over  and 
His  Excellency  asked  him  to  smoke.  The  Vice- 
roy was  pleased  with  Mellish  because  he  did  not 
talk  "shop." 

As  soon  as  the  cheroots  were  lit,  Mellish  spoke 
like  a  man;  beginning  with  his  cholera-theory, 


1 66  A  Germ-Destroyer 

reviewing  his  fifteen  years'  "scientific  labors," 
the  machinations  of  the  "Simla  Ring,"  and  the 
excellence  of  his  Fumigatory,  while  the  Viceroy 
watched  him  between  half-shut  eyes  and  thought 
— "  Evidently  this  is  the  wrong. tiger;  but  it  is  an 
original  animal.''  Mellish's  hair  was  standing  on 
end  with  excitement,  and  he  stammered.  He 
began  groping  in  his  coat-tails  and,  before  the 
Viceroy  knew  what  was  about  to  happen,  he 
had  tipped  a  bagful  of  his  powder  into  the  big 
bj/ver  ash-tray. 

"J-j-judge  for  yourself,  Sir,"  said  Mellish. 
"  Y'  Excellency  shall  judge  for  yourself!  Abso- 
lutely infallible,  on  my  honor." 

He  plunged  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigar  into 
the  powder,  which  began  to  smoke  like  a  vol- 
cano, and  send  up  fat,  greasy  wreaths  of  copper- 
colored  smoke.  In  five  seconds  the  room  was 
filled  with  a  most  pungent  and  sickening  stench 
— a  reek  that  took  fierce  hold  of  the  trap  of  your 
windpipe  and  shut  it.  The  powder  hissed  and 
fizzed,  and  sent  out  blue  and  green  sparks,  and  the 
smoke  rose  till  you  could  neither  see,  nor  breathe, 
nor  gasp.     Mellish.  however,  was  used  to  it. 

"Nitrate  of  strontia,"  he  shouted;  "baryta, 
bone-meal  etcetera  !  Thousand  cubic  feet  smoke 
per  cubic  inch.  Not  a  germ  could  live — not  a 
germ,  Y'  Excellency  1" 

But  His  Excellency  had  tied,  and  was  cough- 


Copyright,  1899,  by  H.  M.  Caldwell  Co. 

"'Nitrite  of   Strontia  ! '    he    shouted,  'not  a  germ  could  live, 

—  nor  a  germ.'  " 


A  Germ-Destroyer  167 

ing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  while  all  Peterhoff 
hummed  like  a  hive.  Red  Lancers  came  in,  and 
the  head  Chaprassi  who  speaks  English,  came  in, 
and  mace-bearers  came  in,  and  ladies  ran  down- 
stairs screaming  "Fire";  for  the  smoke  was 
drifting  through  the  house  and  oozing  out  of 
the  windows,  and  bellying  along  the  verandas, 
and  wreathing  and  writhing  across  the  gardens. 
No  one  could  enter  the  room  where  Mellish  was 
lecturing  on  his  Fumigatory,  till  that  unspeakable 
powder  had  burned  itself  out. 

Then  an  Aide-de-Camp,  who  desired  the  V. 
C,  rushed  through  the  rolling  clouds  and  hauled 
Mellish  into  the  hall.  The  Viceroy  was  prostrate 
with  laughter,  and  could  only  waggle  his  hands 
feebly  at  Mellish,  who  was  shaking  a  fresh  bag- 
ful of  powder  at  him. 

"Glorious!  Glorious!  "  sobbed  His  Excellency. 
"Not  a  germ,  as  you  justly  observe,  could  exist! 
I  can  swear  it.     A  magnificent  success!  " 

Then  he  laughed  till  the  tears  came,  and  Won- 
der, who  had  caught  the  real  Mellishe  snorting  on 
the  Mall,  entered  and  was  deeply  shocked  at  the 
scene.  But  the  Viceroy  was  delighted,  because 
he  saw  that  Wonder  would  presently  depart. 
Mellish  with  the  Fumigatory  was  also  pleased, 
for  he  felt  that  he  had  smashed  the  Simla  Med- 
ical "Ring." 

****** 


i68  A  Gcrm-Destroycr 

Few  men  could  tell  a  story  like  His  Excellency 
when  he  took  the  trouble,  and  his  account  of 
"my  dear,  good  Wonders  friend  with  the  pow- 
der" went  the  round  of  Simla,  and  flippant  folk 
made  Wonder  unhappy  by  their  remarks. 

But  His  Excellency  told  the  tale  once  too  often 
— for  Wonder.  As  he  meant  to  do.  It  was  at  a 
Seepee  Picnic.  Wonder  was  sitting  just  behind 
the  Viceroy. 

"And  1  really  thought  for  a  moment,"  wound 
up  His  Excellency,  "that  my  dear  good  Wonder 
had  hired  an  assassin  to  clear  his  way  to  the 
throne!" 

Every  one  laughed;  but  there  was  a  delicate 
sub-tinkle  in  the  Viceroy's  tone  which  Wonder 
understood.  He  found  that  his  health  was  giving 
way;  and  the  Viceroy  allowed  him  to  go,  and 
presented  him  with  a  flaming  "character"  for 
use  at  Home  among  big  people. 

"My  fault  entirely,"  said  His  Excellency,  in 
after  seasons,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "My 
inconsistency'  must  always  have  been  distasteful 
to  such  a  masterly  man." 


KIDNAPPED 


KIDNAPPED 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Which,  taken  any  way  you  please,  is  bad, 

And  strands  them  in  forsaken  guts  and  creeks 

No  decent  soul  would  think  of  visiting. 

You  cannot  stop  the  tide ;  but.,  now  and  then, 

You  may  arrest  some  rash  adventurer 

Who — h'm — will  hardly  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

—  Vibart  's  Moralities. 

WE  are  a  high-caste  and  enlightened  race, 
and  infant-marriage  is  very  shocking  and 
the  consequences  are  sometimes  peculiar;  but, 
nevertheless,  the  Hindu  notion — which  is  the 
Continental  notion,  which  is  the  aboriginal  notion 
— of  arranging  marriages  irrespective  of  the  per- 
sonal inclinations  of  the  married,  is  sound. 
Think  for  a  minute,  and  you  will  see  that  it  must 
be  so;  unless,  of  course,  you  believe  in  "affini- 
ties." In  which  case  you  had  better  not  read  this 
tale.  How  can  a  man  who  has  never  married; 
who  cannot  be  trusted  to  pick  up  at  sight  a 
moderately  sound  horse;  whose  head  is  hot  and 
upset  with  visions  of  domestic  felicity,  go  about 
the  choosing  of  a  wife  ?  He  cannot  see  straight  or 
think  straight  if  he  tries;  and  the  same  disadvan- 
tages exist  in  case  of  a  girl's  fancies.     But  when 

171 


1 72  Kidnapped 

mature,  married,  and  discreet  people  arrange  a 
match  between  a  boy  and  a  girl,  they  do  it  sen- 
sibly, with  a  view  to  the  future,  and  the  young 
couple  live  happily  ever  afterward.  As  everybody 
knows. 

Properly  speaking,  Government  should  estab- 
lish a  Matrimonial  Department,  efficiently  offi- 
cered, with  a  Jury  of  Matrons,  a  Judge  of  the 
Chief  Court,  a  Senior  Chaplain,  and  an  Awful 
Warning,  in  the  shape  of  a  love-match  that  has 
gone  wrong,  chained  to  the  trees  in  the  court- 
yard. All  marriages  should  be  made  through  the 
Department,  which  might  be  subordinate  to  the 
Educational  Department,  under  the  same  penalty 
as  that  attaching  to  the  transfer  of  land  without  a 
stamped  document.  But  Government  won't  take 
suggestions.  It  pretends  that  it  is  too  busy. 
However,  I  will  put  my  notion  on  record,  and 
explain  the  example  that  illustrates  the  theory. 

Once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  good  young 
man — a  first-class  officer  in  his  own  Department 
— a  man  with  a  career  before  him  and,  possibly, 
a  K.C.I.E.  at  the  end  of  it.  All  his  superiors 
spoke  well  of  him,  because  he  knew  how  to  hold 
his  tongue  and  his  pen  at  the  proper  times.  There 
are,  to-day,  only  eleven  men  in  India  who  pos- 
sess this  secret;  and  they  have  all,  with  one  ex- 
ception, attained  great  honor  and  enormous 
incomes. 


Kidnapped  173 

This  good  young  man  was  quiet  and  self-con- 
tained— too  old  for  his  years  by  far.  Which  always 
carries  its  own  punishment.  Had  a  Subaltern,  or 
a  Tea-Planter's  Assistant,  or  anybody  who  enjoys 
life  and  has  no  care  for  to-morrow,  done  what  he 
tried  to  do,  not  a  soul  would  have  cared.  But 
when  Peythroppe — the  estimable,  virtuous,  eco- 
nomical, quiet,  hard-working,  young  Peythroppe 
— fell,  there  was  a  flutter  through  five  Depart- 
ments. 

The  manner  of  his  fall  was  in  this  way.  He 
met  a  Miss  Castries — d'Castries  it  was  originally, 
but  the  family  dropped  the  d'  for  administrative 
reasons — and  he  fell  in  love  with  her  even  more 
energetically  than  he  worked.  Understand  clearly 
that  there  was  not  a  breath  of  a  word  to  be  said 
against  Miss  Castries — not  a  shadow  of  a  breath. 
She  was  good  and  very  lovely — possessed  what 
innocent  people  at  Home  call  a  "Spanish"  com- 
plexion, with  thick  blue-black  hair  growing  low 
down  on  the  forehead,  into  a  "widow's  peak," 
and  big  violet  eyes  under  eyebrows  as  black  and 
as  straight  as  the  borders  of  a  Gazette  Extraor- 
dinary, when  a  big  man  dies.     But but 

but Well,  she  was  a  very  sweet  girl  and  very 

pious,  but  for  many  reasons  she  was  "impossi- 
ble." Quite  so.  All  good  Mammas  know  what 
"impossible"  means.  It  was  obviously  absurd 
that   Peythroppe   should   marry  her.     The  little 


174  Kidnapped 

opal-tinted  onyx  at  the  base  of  her  finger-nails 
said  this  as  plainly  as  print.  Further,  marriage 
with  Miss  Castries  meant  marriage  with  several 
other  Castries — Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  her 
Papa,  Mrs.  Eulalie  Castries  her  Mamma,  and  all 
the  ramifications  of  the  Castries  family,  on  in- 
comes ranging  from  Rs.i  7  5  to  Rs.4  7oa  month, 
and  their  wives  and  connections  again. 

It  would  have  been  cheaper  for  Peythroppe  to 
have  assaulted  a  Commissioner  with  a  dog  whip, 
or  to  have  burned  the  records  of  a  Deputy-Com- 
missioner's Office,  than  to  have  contracted  an  al- 
liance with  the  Castries.  It  would  have  weighted 
his  after-career  less — even  under  a  Government 
which  never  forgets  and  never  forgives.  Every- 
body saw  this  but  Peythroppe.  He  was  going 
to  marry  Miss  Castries,  he  was — being  of  age  and 
drawing  a  good  income — and  woe  betide  the 
house  that  would  not  afterward  receive  Mrs.  Vir- 
ginie  Saulez  Pevthroppe  with  the  deference  due 
to  her  husband's  rank.  That  was  Peythroppe's 
ultimatum,  and  any  remonstrance  drove  him 
frantic. 

These  sudden  madnesses  most  afflict  the  sanest 
men.  There  was  a  case  once — but  I  will  tell  you 
of  that  later  on.  You  cannot  account  for  the 
mania  except  under  a  theory  directly  contradict- 
ing the  one  about  the  Place  wherein  marriages 
are  made.     Peythroppe  was  burningly  anxious 


Kidnapped  175 

to  put  a  millstone  round  his  neck  at  thb  outset 
of  his  career;  arid  argument  had  not  the  least  ef- 
fect on  him.  He  was  going  to  marry  Miss  Cas- 
tries, and  the  business  was  his  own  business. 
He  would  thank  you  to  keep  your  advice  to  your- 
self. With  a  man  in  this  condition,  mere  words 
only  fix  him  in  his  purpose.  Of  course  he  can- 
not see  that  marriage  in  India  does  not  concern 
the  individual  but  the  Government  he  serves. 

Do  you  remember  Mrs.  Hauksbee — the  most 
wonderful  woman  in  India  ?  She  saved  Pluffles 
from  Mrs.  Reiver,  won  Tarrion  his  appointment 
in  the  Foreign  Office,  and  was  defeated  in  open 
field  by  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil.  She  heard  of  the 
lamentable  condition  of  Peythroppe,  and  her  brain 
struck  out  the  plan  that  saved  him.  She  had  the 
wisdom  of  the  Serpent,  the  logical  coherence  of 
the  Man,  the  fearlessness  of  the  Child,  and  the 
triple  intuition  of  the  Woman.  Never — no,  never 
— as  long  as  a  tonga  buckets  down  the  Solon  dip, 
or  the  couples  go  a-riding  at  the  back  of  Summer 
Hill,  will  there  be  such  a  genius  as  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee. She  attended  the  consultation  of  Three  Men 
on  Peythroppe's  case;  and  she  stood  up  with  the 
lash  of  her  riding-whip  between  her  lips  and 
spake. 


Three  weeks  later,  Peythroppe  dined  with  the 


176  Kidnapped 

Three  Men,  and  the  Gazette  of  India  came  in. 
Peythroppe  found  to  his  surprise  that  he  had  been 
gazetted  a  month's  leave.  Don't  ask  me  how  this 
was  managed.  I  believe  firmly  that,  if  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  ,u;!Ve  the  order,  the  whole  Great  Indian 
Administration  would  stand  on  its  head.  The 
Three  Men  had  also  a  month's  leave  each.  Pey- 
throppe put  the  Gazette  down  and  said  bad  words. 
Then  there  came  from  the  compound  the  soft 
"pad-pad"  of  camels — "thieves'  camels,"  the 
Bikaneer  breed  that  don't  bubble  and  howl  when 
they  sit  down  and  get  up. 

After  that,  1  don't  know  what  happened.  This 
much  is  certain.  Peythroppe  disappeared — van- 
ished like  smoke — and  the  long  foot-rest  chair  in 
the  house  of  the  Three  Men  was  broken  to  splin- 
ters. Also  a  bedstead  departed  from  one  of  the 
bedrooms. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  said  that  Mr.  Peythroppe  was 
shooting  in  Rajputana  with  the  Three  Men;  so 
we  were  compelled  to  believe  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  Peythroppe  was 
gazetted  twenty  davs'  extension  of  leave;  but 
there  was  wrath  and  lamentation  in  the  house  of 
Castries.  The  marriage-day  had  been  fixed,  but 
the  bridegroom  never  came:  and  the  D'Silvas, 
Pereiras,  and  Ducketts  lifted  their  voices  and 
mocked  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  as  one  who 
had  been  basely  imposed  upon.     Mrs.  Hauksbee 


Kidnapped  177 

went  to  the  wedding,  and  was  much  astonished 
when  Peythroppe  did  not  appear.  After  seven 
weeks,  Peythroppe  and  the  Three  Men  returned 
from  Rajputana.  Peythroppe  was  in  hard  tough 
condition,  rather  white,  and  more  self-contained 
than  ever. 

One  of  the  Three  Men  had  a  cut  on  his  nose, 
caused  by  the  kick  of  a  gun.  Twelve-bores  kick 
rather  curiously. 

Then  came  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries,  seek- 
ing for  the  blood  of  his  perfidious  son-in-law  to 
be.  He  said  things— vulgar  and  "impossible" 
things  which  showed  the  raw  rough  "ranker" 
below  the  "  Honorary,"  and  I  fancy  Peythroppe's 
eyes  were  opened.  Anyhow,  he  held  his  peace 
till  the  end;  when  he  spoke  briefly.  Honorary 
Lieutenant  Castries  asked  for  a  "peg,"  before  he 
went  away  to  die  or  bring  a  suit  for  breach  of 
promise. 

Miss  Castries  was  a  very  good  girl.  She  said 
that  she  would  have  no  breach  of  promise  suits. 
She  said  that,  if  she  was  not  a  lady,  she  was  re- 
fined enough  to  know  that  ladies  kept  their 
broken  hearts  to  themselves;  and,  as  she  ruled 
her  parents,  nothing  happened.  Later  on,  she 
married  a  most  respectable  and  gentlemanly  per- 
son. He  traveled  for  an  enterprising  firm  in  Cal- 
cutta, and  was  all  that  a  good  husband  should  be. 

So  Peythroppe  came  to  his  right  mind  again, 


1 78  Kidnapped 

and  did  much  good  work,  and  was  honored  by 
all  who  knew  him.  One  of  these  days  he  will 
marry ;  but  he  will  marry  a  sweet  pink-and-white 
maiden,  on  the  Government  House  List,  with  a 
little  money  and  some  influential  connections,  as 
every  wise  man  should.  And  he  will  never,  all 
his  life,  tell  her  what  happened  during  the  seven 
weeks  of  his  shooting-tour  in  Rajputana. 

But  just  think  how  much  trouble  and  expense 
— for  camel-hire  is  not  cheap,  and  those  Bikaneer 
brutes  had  to  be  fed  like  humans — might  have 
been  saved  by  a  properly  conducted  Matrimonial 
Department,  under  the  control  of  the  Director- 
General  of  Education,  but  corresponding  direct 
with  the  Viceroy. 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTL^ 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT 
GOLIGHTLY 

•«  I've  forgotten  the  countersign,"  sez  'e. 

"  Oh  !     You  'ave,  'ave  you  ?  "  sez  I. 

"  But  I'm  the  Colonel,"  sez  'e. 

"  Oh  !  You  are,  are  you  ?  "  sez  I.  "  Colonel  nor  no  Colonel, 
you  waits  'ere  till  I'm  relieved,  an'  the  Sarjint  reports  on  your 
ugly  old  mug.      Choop  !  "  sez  I. 

****** 

An'  s'elp  me  soul,  'twas  the  Colonel  after  all !  But  I  was  a 
recruity  then. 

—  The  Unedited  Autobiography  of  Private  Otheris. 

IF  there  was  one  thing  on  which  Golightly 
prided  himself  more  than  another,  it  was 
looking  like  "  an  Officer  and  a  Gentleman."  He 
said  it  was  for  the  honor  of  the  Service  that  he 
attired  himself  so  elaborately;  but  those  who 
knew  him  best  said  that  it  was  just  personal 
vanity.  There  was  no  harm  about  Golightly — 
not  an  ounce.  He  recognized  a  horse  when  he 
saw  one,  and  could  do  more  than  fill  a  cantle. 
He  played  a  very  fair  game  at  billiards,  and  was 
a  sound  man  at  the  whist-table.  Every  one  liked 
him;  and  nobody  ever  dreamed  of  seeing  him 
handcuffed  on  a  station  platform  as  a  deserter. 
But  this  sad  thing  happened. 

181 


182  The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly 

He  was  going  down  from  Dalhousie,  at  the  end 

of  his  leave — riding  down.  He  had  run  his  leave 
as  fine  as  he  dared,  and  wanted  to  come  down 
in  a  hurry. 

It  was  fairly  warm  at  Dalhousie,  and,  know- 
ing what  to  expect  below,  he  descended  in  a 
new  khaki  suit — tight  fitting — of  a  delicate  olive- 
given;  a  peacock-blue  tie,  white  collar,  and  a 
snowy  white  solah  helmet.  He  prided  himself 
on  looking  neat  even  when  he  was  riding  post. 
He  did  look  neat,  and  he  was  so  deeply  concerned 
about  his  appearance  before  he  started  that  he 
quite  forgot  to  take  anything  but  some  small 
change  with  him.  He  left  all  his  notes  at  the 
hotel.  His  servants  had  gone  down  the  road 
before  him,  to  be  ready  in  waiting  at  Pathankote 
with  a  change  of  gear.  That  was  what  he  called 
traveling  in  "light  marching-order."  He  was 
proud  of  his  faculty  of  organization — what  we 
call  bundobust. 

Twenty-two  miles  out  of  Dalhousie  it  began 
to  rain — not  a  mere  hill-shower  but  a  good, 
tepid,  monsoonish  downpour.  Golightly  bustled 
on,  wishing  that  he  had  brought  an  umbrella. 
The  dust  on  the  roads  turned  into  mud,  and  the 
pony  mired  a  good  deal.  So  did  Golightly's 
khaki  gaiters.  But  he  kept  on  steadily  and  tried 
to  think  how  pleasant  the  coolth  was. 

His  next  pony  was  rather  a  brute  at  starting, 


The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly  183 

and,  Golightly's  hands  being  slippery  with  the 
rain,  contrived  to  get  rid  of  Golightly  at  a  corner. 
He  chased  the  animal,  caught  it,  and  went  ahead 
briskly.  The  spill  had  not  improved  his  clothes 
or  his  temper,  and  he  had  lost  one  spur.  He 
kept  the  other  one  employed.  By  the  time  that 
stage  was  ended,  the  pony  had  had  as  much  ex- 
ercise as  he  wanted,  and,  in  spite  of  the  rain, 
Golightly  was  sweating  freely.  At  the  end  of 
another  miserable  half  hour  Golightly  found  the 
world  disappear  before  his  eyes  in  clammy  pulp. 
The  rain  had  turned  the  pith  of  his  huge  and 
snowy  solah-topee  into  an  evil-smelling  dough, 
and  it  had  closed  on  his  head  like  a  half-opened 
mushroom.  Also  the  green  lining  was  beginning 
to  run. 

Golightly  did  not  say  anything  worth  record- 
ing here.  He  tore  off  and  squeezed  up  as  much 
of  the  brim  as  was  in  his  eyes  and  ploughed  on. 
The  back  of  the  helmet  was  flapping  on  his  neck 
and  the  sides  stuck  to  his  ears,  but  the  leather 
band  and  green  lining  kept  things  roughly  to- 
gether, so  that  the  hat  did  not  actually  melt  away 
where  it  flapped. 

Presently,  the  pulp  and  the  green  stuff  made  a 
sort  of  slimy  mildew  which  ran  over  Golightly 
in  several  directions — down  his  back  and  bosom 
for  choice.  The  khaki  color  ran  too — it  was 
really  shockingly  bad  dye — and  sections  of  Go- 


184  The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly 

lightly  were  brown,  and  patches  were  violet, 
and  contours  were  ochre,  and  streaks  were  ruddv- 
red,  and  blotches  were  nearly  white,  according  to 
the  nature  and  peculiarities  of  the  dye.  When 
he  took  out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  face, 
and  the  green  of  the  hat-lining  and  the  purple 
stuff  that  had  soaked  through  on  to  his  neck 
from  the  tie  became  thoroughly  mixed,  the 
effect  was  amazing. 

Near  Dhar  the  rain  stopped  and  the  evening 
sun  came  out  and  dried  him  up  slightly.  It  fixed 
the  colors,  too.  Three  miles  from  Pathankote 
the  last  pony  fell  dead  lame,  and  Golightly  was 
forced  to  walk.  He  pushed  on  into  Pathankote 
to  find  his  servants.  He  did  not  know  then  that 
his  khitmatgar  had  stopped  by  the  roadside  to 
get  drunk,  and  would  come  on  the  next  day  say- 
ing that  he  had  sprained  his  ankle.  When  he 
got  into  Pathankote  he  couldn't  find  his  servants, 
his  boots  were  stiff  and  ropy  with  mud,  and 
there  were  large  quantities  of  dust  about  his 
body.  The  blue  tie  had  run  as  much  as  the 
khaki.  So  he  took  it  off  with  the  collar  and 
threw  it  away.  Then  he  said  something  about 
servants  generally  and  tried  to  get  a  peg.  He 
paid  eight  annas  for  the  drink,  and  this  revealed 
to  him  that  he  had  only  six  annas  more  in  his 
pocket — or  in  the  world  as  he  stood  at  that  hour. 

He  went  to  the  Station-Master  to  negotiate  for 


The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly  185 

a  first-class  ticket  to  Khasa,  where  he  was  sta- 
tioned. The  booking-clerk  said  something  to 
the  Station-Master,  the  Station-Master  said  some- 
thing to  the  Telegraph  Clerk,  and  the  three 
looked  at  him  with  curiosity.  They  asked  him 
to  wait  for  half  an  hour,  while  they  telegraphed 
to  Umritsar  for  authority.  So  he  waited  and 
four  constables  came  and  grouped  themselves 
picturesquely  round  him.  Just  as  he  was  pre- 
paring to  ask  them  to  go  away,  the  Station-Mas- 
ter said  that  he  would  give  the  Sahib  a  ticket  to 
Umritsar,  if  the  Sahib  would  kindly  come  inside 
the  booking-office.  Golightly  stepped  inside, 
and  the  next  thing  he  knew  was  that  a  constable 
was  attached  to  each  of  his  legs  and  arms,  while 
the  Station-Master  was  trying  to  cram  a  mail-bag 
over  his  head. 

There  was  a  very  fair  scuffle  all  round  the 
booking-office,  and  Golightly  took  a  nasty  cut 
over  his  eye  through  falling  against  a  table.  But 
the  constables  were  too  much  for  him,  and  they 
and  the  Station-Master  handcuffed  him  securely. 
As  soon  as  the  mail-bag  was  slipped,  he  began 
expressing  his  opinions,  and  the  head  constable 
said,  "Without  doubt  this  is  the  soldier-English- 
man we  required.  Listen  to  the  abuse!  "  Then 
Golightly  asked  the  Station-Master  what  the  this 
and  the  that  the  proceedings  meant.  The  Sta- 
tion-Master told  him  he  was  "  Private  John  Binkle 


1 86  The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly 

of  the Regiment,  5  ft.  9  in.,  fair  hair,  grey 

eyes,  and  a  dissipated  appearance,  no  marks  on 
the  body,"  who  had  deserted  a  fortnight  ago. 
Golightly  began  explaining  at  great  length;  and 
the  more  he  explained  the  less  the  Station-Master 
believed  him.  He  said  that  no  Lieutenant  could 
look  such  a  ruffian  as  did  Golightly,  and  that  his 
instructions  were  to  send  his  capture  under  proper 
escort  to  Umritsar.  Golightly  was  feeling  very 
damp  and  uncomfortable  and  the  language  he 
used  was  not  fit  for  publication,  even  in  an  ex- 
purgated form.  The  four  constables  saw  him 
safe  to  Umritsar  in  an  "intermediate"  compart- 
ment, and  he  spent  the  four-hour  journey  in 
abusing  them  as  fluently  as  his  knowledge  of  the 
vernaculars  allowed. 

At  Umritsar  he  was  bundled  out  on  the  plat- 
form into  the  arms  of  a  Corporal  and  two  men  of 

the Regiment.     Golightly  drew  himself  up 

and  tried  to  carry  off  matters  jauntily.  He  did 
not  feel  too  jaunty  in  handcuffs,  with  four  con- 
stables behind  him,  and  the  blood  from  the  cut 
on  his  forehead  stiffening  on  his  left  cheek.  The 
Corporal  was  not  jocular  either.  Golightly  got 
as  far  as — "This  is  a  very  absurd  mistake,  my 
men,"  when  the  Corporal  told  him  to  "stow  his 
lip"  and  come  along.  Golightly  did  not  want  to 
come  along.  He  desired  to  stop  and  explain. 
He  explained  very  well  indeed,  until  the  Corpora! 


The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly  187 

cut  in  with — "  You  a  orficer!  It's  the  like  o'  you 
as  brings  disgrace  on  the  likes  of  us.  Bloomin' 
fine  orficer  you  are!  I  know  your  regiment. 
The  Rogue's  March  is  the  quickstep  where  you 
come  from.  You're  a  black  shame  to  the  Serv- 
ice." 

Golightly  kept  his  temper,  and  began  explain- 
ing all  over  again  from  the  beginning.  Then  he 
was  marched  out  of  the  rain  into  the  refreshment 
room  and  told  not  to  make  a  qualified  fool  of 
himself.  The  men  were  going  to  run  him  up  to 
Fort  Govindghar.  And  "running  up"  is  a  per- 
formance almost  as  undignified  as  the  Frog 
March. 

Golightly  was  nearly  hysterical  with  rage  and 
the  chill  and  the  mistake  and  the  handcuffs  and 
the  headache  that  the  cut  on  his  forehead  had 
given  him.  He  really  laid  himself  out  to  express 
what  was  in  his  mind.  When  he  had  quite  fin- 
ished and  his  throat  was  feeling  dry,  one  of  the 
men  said,  "  I've  'eard  a  few  beggars  in  the  clink 
blind,  stiff  and  crack  on  a  bit;  but  I've  never 
'eard  any  one  to  touch  this  ere  'orficer.'"  They 
were  not  angry  with  him.  They  rather  admired 
him.  They  had  some  beer  at  the  refreshment- 
room,  and  offered  Golightly  some  too,  because 
he  had  "swore  won'erful."  They  asked  him  to 
tell  them  all  about  the  adventures  of  Private  John 
Binkle  while  he  was  loose  on  the  country-side; 


188  The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly 

and  that  made  Golightly  wilder  than  ever.  If  he 
had  kept  his  wits  about  him  he  would  have  been 
quiet  until  an  officer  came;  but  he  attempted  to 
run. 

Now  the  butt  of  a  Martini  in  the  small  of  your 
back  hurts  a  great  deal,  and  rotten,  rain-soaked 
khaki  tears  easily  when  two  men  are  yerking  at 
your  collar. 

Golightly  rose  from  the  floor  feeling  very  sick 
and  giddy,  with  his  shirt  ripped  open  all  down 
his  breast  and  nearly  all  down  his  back.  He 
yielded  to  his  luck,  and  at  that  point  the  down- 
train  from  Lahore  came  in,  carrying  one  of  Go- 
lightly's  Majors. 

This  is  the  Major's  evidence  in  full  — 

"There  was  the  sound  of  a  scuffle  in  the  sec- 
ond-class refreshment-room,  so  I  went  in  and 
saw  the  most  villainous  loafer  that  1  ever  set  eyes 
on.  His  boots  and  breeches  were  plastered  with 
mud  and  beer-stains.  He  wore  a  muddy-white 
dunghill  sort  of  thing  on  his  head,  and  it  hung 
down  in  slips  on  his  shoulders  which  were  a 
good  deal  scratched.  He  was  half  in  and  half 
out  of  a-  shirt  as  nearly  in  two  pieces  as  it  could 
be,  and  he  was  begging  the  guard  to  look  at  the 
name  on  the  tail  of  it.  As  he  had  rucked  the 
shirt  all  over  his  head,  I  couldn't  at  first  see  who 
he  was,  but  I  fancied  that  he  was  a  man  in  the 
first  stage  of  D.  T.  from  the  way  he  swore  while 


The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly  189 

he  wrestled  with  his  rags.  When  he  turned 
round,  and  I  had  made  allowances  for  a  lump  as 
big  as  a  pork-pie  over  one  eye,  and  some  green 
war-paint  on  the  face,  and  some  violet  stripes 
round  the  neck,  I  saw  that  it  was  Golightly.  He 
was  very  glad  to  see  me,"  said  the  Major,  "and 
he  hoped  I  would  not  tell  the  Mess  about  it.  / 
didn't,  but  you  can,  if  you  like,  now  that  Go- 
lightly has  gone  Home." 

Golightly  spent  the  greater  part  of  that  summer 
in  trying  to  get  the  Corporal  and  the  two  soldiers 
tried  by  Court-Martial  for  arresting  an  "officer 
and  a  gentleman."  They  were,  of  course,  very 
sorry  for  their  error.  But  the  tale  leaked  intc  the 
regimental  canteen,  and  thence  ran  about  the 
Province. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO 

A  stone's  throw  out  on  either  hand 
From  that  well-ordered  road  we  tread, 

And  all  the  world  is  wild  and  strange : 
Churel  and  ghoul  and  Djinn  and  sprite 
Shall  bear  us  company  to-night, 
For  we  have  reached  the  Oldest  Land 

Wherein  the  Powers  of  Darkness  range. 

— From  the  Dusk  to  the  Dawn. 

THE  house  of  Suddhoo,  near  the  Taksali  Gate, 
is  two-storied,  with  four  carved  windows 
of  old  brown  wood,  and  a  flat  roof.  You  may 
recognize  it  by  five  red  hand-prints  arranged  like 
the  Five  of  Diamonds  on  the  whitewash  between 
the  upper  windows.  Bhagwan  Dass  the  grocer 
and  a  man  who  says  he  gets  his  living  by  seal- 
cutting  live  in  the  lower  story  with  a  troop  of 
wives,  servants,  friends,  and  retainers.  The  two 
upper  rooms  used  to  be  occupied  by  Janoo  and 
Azizun  and  a  little  black-and-tan  terrier  that  was 
stolen  from  an  Englishman's  house  and  given  to 
Janoo  by  a  soldier.  To-day,  only  janoo  lives  in 
the  upper  rooms.  Suddhoo  sleeps  on  the  roof 
generally,  except  when  he  sleeps  in  the  street. 
He  used  to  go  to  Peshawar  in  the  cold  weather 
to  visit  his  son  who  sells  curiosities  near  the 

193 


194  In  the  House  of  Suddhoo 

Edwardes"  Gate,  and  then  he  slept  under  a  real 
mud  roof.  Suddhoo  is  a  great  friend  of  mine, 
because  his  cousin  had  a  son  who  secured,  thanks 
to  my  recommendation,  the  post  of  head-mes- 
senger to  a  big  firm  in  the  Station.  Suddhoo  says 
that  God  will  make  me  a  Lieutenant-Governor  one 
of  these  days.  I  dare  say  his  prophecy  will  come 
true.  He  is  very,  very  old,  with  white  hair  and 
no  teeth  worth  showing,  and  he  has  outlived  his 
wits — outlived  nearly  everything  except  his  fond- 
ness for  his  son  at  Peshawar.  Janoo  and  Azizun 
are  Kashmiris,  Ladies  of  the  City,  and  theirs  was 
an  ancient  and  more  or  less  honorable  profession; 
but  Azizun  has  since  married  a  medical  student 
from  the  Northwest  and  has  settled  down  to  a 
most  respectable  life  somewhere  near  Bareilly. 
Bhagwan  Dass  is  an  extortionate  and  an  adul- 
terator. He  is  very  rich.  The  man  who  is  sup- 
posed to  get  his  living  by  seal-cutting  pretends  to 
be  very  poor.  This  lets  you  know  as  much  as  is 
necessary  of  the  four  principal  tenants  in  the 
house  of  Suddhoo.  Then  there  is  Me  of  course; 
but  I  am  only  the  chorus  that  comes  in  at  the  end 
to  explain  things.     So  I  do  not  count. 

Suddhoo  was  not  clever.  The  man  who  pre- 
tended to  cut  seals  was  the  cleverest  of  them  all 
— Bhagwan  Dass  only  knew  how  to  lie — except 
Janoo.  She  was  also  beautiful,  but  that  was  her 
own  affair. 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo  195 

Suddhoo's  son  at  Peshawar  was  attacked  by 
pleurisy,  and  old  Suddhoo  was  troubled.  The 
seal-cutter  man  heard  of  Suddhoo's  anxiety  and 
made  capital  out  of  it.  He  was  abreast  of  the 
times.  He  got  a  friend  in  Peshawar  to  telegraph 
daily  accounts  of  the  son's  health.  And  here  the 
story  begins. 

Suddhoo's  cousin's  son  told  me,  one  evening, 
that  Suddhoo  wanted  to  see  me;  that  he  was  too 
old  and  feeble  to  come  personally,  and  that  I 
should  be  conferring  an  everlasting  honor  on  the 
House  of  Suddhoo  if  I  went  to  him.  I  went; 
but  I  think,  seeing  how  well  off  Suddhoo  was 
then,  that  he  might  have  sent  something  better 
than  an  ekka,  which  jolted  fearfully,  to  haul  out 
a  future  Lieutenant-Governor  to  the  City  on  a 
muggy  April  evening.  The  ekka  did  not  run 
quickly.  It  was  full  dark  when  we  pulled  up 
opposite  the  door  of  Ranjit  Singh's  Tomb  near 
the  main  gate  of  the  Fort.  Here  was  Suddhoo, 
and  he  said  that,  by  reason  of  my  condescen- 
sion, it  was  absolutely  certain  that  I  should  be- 
come a  Lieutenant-Governor  while  my  hair  was 
yet  black.  Then  we  talked  about  the  weather 
and  the  state  of  my  health,  and  the  wheat  crops, 
for  fifteen  minutes,  in  the  Huzuri  Bagh,  under 
the  stars. 

Suddhoo  came  to  the  point  at  last.  He  said 
that  Janoo  had  told  him  that  there  was  an  order 


196  In  the  House  of  Suddhoo 

of  the  Sirkar  against  magic,  because  it  was  feared 
that  magic  might  one  day  kill  the  Empress  of  In- 
dia. 1  didn't  know  anything  about  the  state  of  the 
law;  but  1  fancied  that  something  interesting  was 
going  to  happen.  I  said  that  so  far  from  magic 
being  discouraged  by  the  Government  it  was 
highly  commended.  The  greatest  officials  of  the 
State  practiced  it  themselves.  (If  the  Financial 
Statement  isn't  magic,  I  don't  know  what  is.) 
Then,  to  encourage  him  further,  I  said  that,  if 
there  was  any  jadoo  afoot,  I  had  not  the  least  ob- 
jection to  giving  it  my  countenance  and  sanction, 
and  to  seeing  that  it  was  clean  jadoo — white 
magic,  as  distinguished  from  the  unclean  jadoo 
which  kills  folk.  It  took  a  long  time  before 
Suddhoo  admitted  that  this  was  just  what  he  had 
asked  me  to  come  for.  Then  he  told  me,  in 
jerks  and  quavers,  that  the  man  who  said  he  cut 
seals  was  a  sorcerer  of  the  cleanest  kind;  that 
every  day  he  gave  Suddhoo  news  of  the  sick  son 
in  Peshawar  more  quickly  than  the  lightning 
could  fly,  and  that  this  news  was  always  cor- 
roborated by  the  letters.  Further,  that  he  had 
told  Suddhoo  how  a  great  danger  was  threaten- 
ing his  son,  which  could  be  removed  by  clean 
jadoo  ;  and,  of  course,  heavy  payment.  1  began 
to  see  exactly  how  the  land  lay,  and  told  Sud- 
dhoo that  I  also  understood  a  little  jadoo  in  the 
Western  line,  and  would  go  to  his  house  to  see 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo  197 

that  everything  was  done  decently  and  in  order. 
We  set  off  together;  and  on  the  way  Suddhoo 
told  me  that  he  had  paid  the  seal-cutter  between 
one  hundred  and  two  hundred  rupees  already; 
'and  the  j'adoo  of  that  night  would  cost  two  hun- 
dred more.  Which  was  cheap,  he  said,  con- 
sidering the  greatness  of  his  son's  danger;  but  I 
do  not  think  he  meant  it. 

The  lights  were  all  cloaked  in  the  front  of  the 
house  when  we  arrived.  I  could  hear  awful 
noises  from  behind  the  seal-cutter's  shop-front, 
as  if  some  one  were  groaning  his  soul  out.  Sud- 
dhoo shook  all  over,  and  while  we  groped  our 
way  upstairs  told  me  that  the  jadoo  had  begun. 
Janoo  and  Azizun  met  us  at  the  stair-head,  and 
told  us  that  the  jadoo-v/ork  was  coming  off  in 
their  rooms,  because  there  was  more  space  there. 
Janoo  is  a  lady  of  a  freethinking  turn  of  mind. 
She  whispered  that  the  jadoo  was  an  invention  to 
get  money  out  of  Suddhoo,  and  that  the  seal- 
cutter  would  go  to  a  hot  place  when  he  died. 
Suddhoo  was  nearly  crying  with  fear  and  old  age. 
He  kept  walking  up  and  down  the  room  in  the 
half-light,  repeating  his  son's  name  over  and  over 
again,  and  asking  Azizun  if  the  seal-cutter  ought 
not  to  make  a  reduction  in  the  case  of  his  own 
landlord.  Janoo  pulled  me  over  to  the  shadow 
in  the  recess  of  the  carved  bow-windows.  The 
boards  were  up,  and  the  rooms  were  only  lit  by 


198  ///  the  House  of  Suddhoo 

one  tiny  oil-lamp.  There  was  no  chance  of  my 
being  seen  if  1  stayed  still. 

Presently,  the  groans  below  ceased,  and  we 
heard  steps  on  the  staircase.  That  was  the  seal- 
cutter.  He  stopped  outside  the  door  as  the  ter- 
rier barked  and  Azizun  fumbled  at  the  chain,  and 
he  told  Suddhoo  to  blow  out  the  lamp.  This 
left  the  place  in  jet  darkness,  except  for  the  red 
glow  from  the  two  huqas  that  belonged  to  Janoo 
and  Azizun.  The  seal-cutter  came  in,  and  1 
heard  Suddhoo  throw  himself  down  on  the  floor 
and  groan.  Azizun  caught  her  breath,  and  Janoo 
backed  on  to  one  of  the  beds  with  a  shudder. 
There  was  a  clink  of  something  metallic,  and 
then  shot  up  a  pale  blue-green  flame  near  the 
ground.  The  light  was  just  enough  to  show 
Azizun,  pressed  against  one  corner  of  the  room 
with  the  terrier  between  her  knees;  Janoo,  with 
her  hands  clasped,  leaning  forward  as  she  sat  on 
the  bed;  Suddhoo,  face  down,  quivering,  and 
the  seal-cutter. 

1  hope  I  may  never  see  another  man  like  that 
seal-cutter.  He  was  stripped  to  the  waist,  with 
a  wreath  of  white  jasmine  as  thick  as  my  wrist 
round  his  forehead,  a  salmon  colored  loin-cloth 
round  his  middle,  and  a  steel  bangle  on  each 
ankle.  This  was  not  awe-inspiring.  It  was  the 
face  of  the  man  that  turned  me  cold.  It  was 
blue-grey  in  the  first  place.     In  the  second,  the 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo  199 

eyes  were  rolled  back  till  you  could  only  see  the 
whites  of  them;  and,  in  the  third,  the  face  was 
the  face  of  a  demon — a  ghoul — anything  you 
please  except  of  the  sleek,  oily  old  ruffian  who 
sat  in  the  daytime  over  his  turning-lathe  down- 
stairs. He  was  lying  on  his  stomach  with  his 
arms  turned  and  crossed  behind  him,  as  if  he  had 
been  thrown  down  pinioned.  His  head  and 
neck  were  the  only  parts  of  him  off  the  floor. 
They  were  nearly  at  right  angles  to  the  body, 
like  the  head  of  a  cobra  at  spring.  It  was 
ghastly.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  on  the  bare 
earth  floor,  stood  a  big,  deep,  brass  basin,  with  a 
pale  blue-green  light  floating  in  the  centre  like  a 
night-light.  Round  that  basin  the  man  on  the 
floor  wriggled  himself  three  times.  How  he  did 
it  I  do  not  know.  I  could  see  the  muscles  ripple 
along  his  spine  and  fall  smooth  again;  but  I 
could  not  see  any  other  motion.  The  head 
seemed  the  only  thing  alive  about  him,  except 
that  slow  curl  and  uncurl  of  the  laboring  back- 
muscles.  Janoo  from  the  bed  was  breathing 
seventy  to  the  minute;  Azizun  held  her  hands 
before  her  eyes;  and  old  Suddhoo.  fingering  at 
the  dirt  that  had  got  into  his  white  beard,  was 
crying  to  himself.  The  horror  of  it  was  that  the 
creeping,  crawly  thing  made  no  sound— only 
crawled!  And,  remember,  this  lasted  for  ten 
minutes,  while   the  terrier  whined,  and  Azizun 


200  /;;  the  House   of  SudJIioo 

shuddered,    and    Janoo    gasped,    and    Suddhoo 
cried. 

1  felt  the  hair  lift  at  the  back  of  my  head,  and 
my  heart  thump  like  a  thermantidote  paddle. 
Luckily,  the  seal-cutter  betrayed  himself  by  his 
most  impressive  trick  and  made  me  calm  again. 
After  he  had  finished  that  unspeakable  triple 
crawl,  he  stretched  his  head  away  from  the  floor 
as  high  as  he  could,  and  sent  out  a  jet  of  fire 
from  his  nostrils.  Now  I  knew  how  fire-spout- 
ing is  done — I  can  do  it  myself — so  I  felt  at  ease. 
The  business  was  a  fraud.  If  he  had  only  kept 
to  that  crawl  without  trying  to  raise  the  effect, 
goodness  knows  what  I  might  not  have  thought. 
Both  the  girls  shrieked  at  the  jet  of  fire  and  the 
head  dropped,  chin-down  on  the  floor,  with  a 
thud;  the  whole  body  lying  then  like  a  corpse 
with  its  arms  trussed.  There  was  a  pause  of  five 
full  minutes  after  this,  and  the  blue-green  flame 
died  down.  Janoo  stooped  to  settle  one  of  her 
anklets,  while  Azizun  turned  her  face  to  the  wall 
and  took  the  terrier  in  her  arms.  Suddhoo  put 
out  an  arm  mechanically  to  Janoo's  huqa,  and  she 
slid  it  across  the  floor  with  her  foot.  Directly 
above  the  body  and  on  the  wall,  were  a  couple  of 
flaming  portraits,  in  stamped-paper  frames,  of  the 
Queen  and  the  Prince  of  Wales.  They  looked 
down  on  the  performance,  and  to  my  thinking, 
seemed  to  heighten  the  grotesqueness  of  it  all. 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo  201 

Just  when  the  silence  was  getting  unendurable, 
the  body  turned  over  and  rolled  away  from  the 
basin  to  the  side  of  the  room,  where  it  lay  stom- 
ach-up. There  was  a  faint  "plop"  from  the 
basin — exactly  like  the  noise  a  fish  makes  when 
it  takes  a  fly — and  the  green  light  in  the  centre 
revived. 

I  looked  at  the  basin,  and  saw,  bobbing  in  the 
water,  the  dried,  shrivelled,  black  head  of  a  na- 
tive baby — open  eyes,  open  mouth,  and  shaved 
scalp.  It  was  worse,  being  so  very  sudden,  than 
the  crawling  exhibition.  We  had  no  time  to  say 
anything  before  it  began  to  speak. 

Read  Poe's  account  of  the  voice  that  came  from 
the  mesmerized  dying  man,  and  you  will  realize 
less  than  one  half  of  the  horror  of  that  head's 
voice. 

There  was  an  interval  of  a  second  or  two  be- 
tween each  word,  and  a  sort  of  "ring,  ring, 
ring,"  in  the  note  of  the  voice,  like  the  timbre  of 
a  bell.  It  pealed  slowly,  as  if  talking  to  itself, 
for  several  minutes  before  I  got  rid  of  my  cold 
sweat.  Then  the  blessed  solution  struck  me.  I 
looked  at  the  body  lying  near  the  doorway,  and 
saw,  just  where  the  hollow  of  the  throat  joins  on 
the  shoulders,  a  muscle  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  any  man's  regular  breathing  twitching  away 
steadily.  The  whole  thing  was  a  careful  repro- 
duction of  the  Egyptian  teraphin  that  one  reads 


202  In  the  House  of  Suddhoo 

about  sometimes;  and  the  voice  was  as  clever 
and  as  appalling  a  piece  of  ventriloquism  as  one 
could  wish  to  hear.  All  this  time  the  head  was 
•'lip-lip-lapping"  against  the  side  of  the  basin, 
and  speaking.  It  told  Suddhoo,  on  his  face  again 
whining,  of  his  son's  illness  and  of  the  state  of 
the  illness  up  to  the  evening  of  that  very  night. 
I  always  shall  respect  the  seal-cutter  for  keeping 
so  faithfully  to  the  time  of  the  Peshawar  tele- 
grams. It  went  on  to  say  that  skilled  doctors 
were  night  and  day  watching  over  the  man's 
life;  and  that  he  would  eventually  recover  if  the 
fee  to  the  potent  sorcerer,  whose  servant  was  the 
head  in  the  basin,  were  doubled. 

Here  the  mistake  from  the  artistic  point  of 
view  came  in.  To  ask  for  twice  your  stipulated 
fee  in  a  voice  that  Lazarus  might  have  used  when 
he  rose  from  the  dead,  is  absurd.  Janoo,  who  is 
really  a  woman  of  masculine  intellect,  saw  this 
as  quickly  as  I  did.  1  heard  her  say  "  Asli 
nahinl  Fareib!"  scornfully  under  her  breath; 
and  just  as  she  said  so,  the  light  in  the  basin  died 
out,  the  head  stopped  talking,  and  we  heard  the 
room  door  creak  on  its  hinges.  Then  Janoo 
struck  a  match,  lit  the  lamp,  and  we  saw  that 
head,  basin,  and  seal-cutter  were  gone.  Sud- 
dhoo was  wringing  his  hands  and  explaining  to 
any  one  who  cared  to  listen,  that,  if  his  chances 
of  eternal  salvation  depended  on  it,  he  could  not 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo  203 

raise  another  two  hundred  rupees.  Azizun  was 
nearly  in  hysterics  in  the  corner;  while  Janoo  sat 
down  composedly  on  one  of  the  beds  to  discuss 
the  probabilities  of  the  whole  thing  being  a 
bunao,  or  ''make-up." 

I  explained  as  much  as  I  knew  of  the  seal-cut- 
ter's way  of  jadoo;  but  her  argument  was  much 
more  simple — "The  magic  that  is  always  de- 
manding gifts  is  no  true  magic,"  said  she.  "  My 
mother  told  me  that  the  only  potent  love-spells 
are  those  which  are  told  you  for  love.  This  seal- 
cutter  man  is  a  liar  and  a  devil.  I  dare  not  tell, 
do  anything,  or  get  anything  done,  because  I  am 
in  debt  to  Bhagwan  Dass  the  bunnia  for  two  gold 
rings  and  a  heavy  anklet.  I  must  get  my  food 
from  his  shop.  The  seal-cutter  is  the  friend  of 
Bhagwan  Dass,  and  he  would  poison  my  food. 
A  fool's  jadoo  has  been  going  on  for  ten  days, 
and  has  cost  Suddhoo  many  rupees  each  night. 
The  seal-cutter  used  black  hens  and  lemons  and 
mantras  before.  He  never  showed  us  anything 
like  this  till  to-night.  Azizun  is  a  fool,  and  will 
be  a  purdahnashin  soon.  Suddhoo  has  lost  his 
strength  and  his  wits.  See  now!  I  had  hoped 
to  get  from  Suddhoo  many  rupees  while  he 
lived,  and  many  more  after  his  death ;  and  behold, 
he  is  spending  everything  on  that  offspring  of  a 
devil  and  a  she-ass,  the  seal-cutter!  " 

Here   I   said,  "But  what  induced  Suddhoo  to 


204  In  the  House  of  fuddho* 

drag   me  into   the   business?    Of   courst   i  cai 
speak   to   the   seal-cutter,  and    he   shall   refund 
The   whole    thing    is   child's   talk — shame — and 
senseless." 

"  Suddhoo  is  an  old  child,"  said  Janoo.  "He 
has  lived  on  the  roofs  these  seventy  years  and  is 
as  senseless  as  a  milch-goat.  He  brought  you 
here  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not  breaking 
any  law  of  the  Sirkar,  whose  salt  he  ate  many 
years  ago.  He  worships  the  dust  off  the  feet  of 
the  seal-cutter,  and  that  cow-devourer  has  for- 
bidden him  to  go  and  see  his  son.  What  does 
Suddhoo  know  of  your  laws  or  the  lightning- 
post  ?  I  have  to  watch  his  money  going  day  by 
day  to  that  lying  beast  below." 

Janoo  stamped  her  foot  on  the  floor  and  nearly 
cried  with  vexation;  while  Suddhoo  was  whim- 
pering under  a  blanket  in  the  corner,  and  Azizun 
was  trying  to  guide  the  pipe-stem  to  his  foolish 
old  mouth. 


Now,  the  case  stands  thus.  Unthinkingly,  I 
have  laid  myself  open  to  the  charge  of  aiding  and 
abetting  the  seal-cutter  in  obtaining  money  un- 
der false  pretences,  which  is  forbidden  by  Section 
420  of  the  Indian  Penal  Code.  I  am  helpless  in 
the  matter  for  these  reasons.  I  cannot  inform 
the  Police.     What  witnesses  would  support  my 


In  the   House  of  Suddhoo  205 

statements  ?  Janoo  refuses  flatly,  and  Azizun  is 
a  veiled  woman  somewhere  near  Bareilly — lost 
in  this  big  India  of  ours.  I  dare  not  again  take 
the  law  into  my  own  hands,  and  speak  to  the 
seal-cutter;  for  certain  am  I  that,  not  only  would 
Suddhoo  disbelieve  me,  but  this  step  would  end 
in  the  poisoning  of  Janoo,  who  is  bound  hand 
and  foot  by  her  debt  to  the  bunnia.  Suddhoo  is 
an  old  dotard;  and  whenever  we  meet  mumbles 
my  idiotic  joke  that  the  Sirkar  rather  patronizes 
the  Black  Art  than  otherwise.  His  son  is  well 
now;  but  Suddhoo  is  completely  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  seal-cutter,  by  whose  advice  he 
regulates  the  affairs  of  his  life.  Janoo  watches 
daily  the  money  that  she  hoped  to  wheedle  out 
of  Suddhoo  taken  by  the  seal-cutter,  and  becomes 
daily  more  furious  and  sullen. 

She  will  never  tell,  because  she  dare  not;  but, 
unless  something  happens  to  prevent  her,  I  am 
afraid  that  the  seal-cutter  will  die  of  cholera — 
the  white  arsenic  kind — about  the  middle  of  May. 
And  thus  I  shall  be  privy  to  a  murder  in  the 
House  of  Suddhoo. 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 


HIS   WEDDED   WIFE 

Cry  "  Murder  !  "  in  the  market-place,  and  each 

Will  turn  upon  his  neighbor  anxious  eyes 

That  ask — "  Art  thou  the  man  ?  "     We  hunted  Cain, 

Some  centuries  ago,  across  the  world. 

That  bred  the  fear  our  own  misdeeds  maintain 

To-day. 

—  Vibarfs  Moralities. 

SHAKESPEARE  says  something  about  worms, 
or  it  may  be  giants  or  beetles,  turning  if  you 
tread  on  them  too  severely.  The  safest  plan  is 
never  to  tread  on  a  worm — not  even  on  the  last 
new  subaltern  from  Home,  with  his  buttons  hardly 
out  of  their  tissue-paper,  and  the  red  of  sappy 
English  beef  in  his  cheeks.  This  is  a  story  of 
the  worm  that  turned.  For  the  sake  of  brevity, 
we  will  call  Henry  Augustus  Ramsay  Faizanne, 
"The  Worm,"  though  he  really  was  an  exceed- 
ingly pretty  boy,  without  a  hair  on  his  face,  and 
with  a  waist  like  a  girl's,  when  he  came  out  to 
the  Second  "Shikarris"  and  was  made  unhappy 
in  several  ways.  The  "  Shikarris "  are  a  high- 
caste  regiment,  and  you  must  be  able  to  do 
things  well — play  a  banjo,  or  ride  more  than 
little,  or  sing,  or  act, — to  get  on  with  them. 

209 


210  Hi:  'itt'if  Wife 

The  Worm  did  nothing  except  fall  off  his  pony, 
and  knock  chips  out  of  gate-posts  with  his  trap. 
Even  that  became  monotonous  after  a  time.  He 
objected  to  whist,  cut  the  cloth  at  billiards,  sang 
out  of  tune,  kept  very  much  to  himself,  and 
wrote  to  his  Mamma  and  sisters  at  Home.  Four 
of  these  five  things  were  vices  which  the  "  Shi- 
karris  "  objected  to  and  set  themselves  to  eradi- 
cate. Every  one  knows  how  subalterns  are,  by 
brother  subalterns,  softened  and  not  permitted  to 
be  ferocious.  It  is  good  and  wholesome,  and  does 
no  one  any  harm,  unless  tempers  are  lost;  and 
then  there  is  trouble.     There  was  a  man  once — 

The  "Shikarris"  shiharred  The  Worm  very 
much,  and  he  bore  everything  without  winking. 
He  was  so  good  and  so  anxious  to  learn,  and 
flushed  so  pink,  that  his  education  was  cut  short, 
and  he  was  left  to  his  own  devices  by  every  one 
except  the  Senior  Subaltern,  who  continued  to 
make  life  a  burden  to  The  Worm.  The  Senior 
Subaltern  meant  no  harm;  but  his  chaff  was 
coarse  and  he  didn't  quite  understand  where  to 
stop.  He  had  been  waiting  too  long  for  his  Com- 
pany; and  that  always  sours  a  man.  Also  he 
was  in  love,  which  made  him  worse. 

One  day,  after  he  had  borrowed  The  Worm's 
trap  for  a  lady  who  never  existed,  had  used  it 
himself  all  the  afternoon,  had  sent  a  note,  to  The 
Worm,  purporting  to  come  from  the  lady,  and 


His  Wedded  Wife  2 1 1 

was  telling  the  Mess  all  about  it,  The  Worm  rose 
in  his  place  and  said,  in  his  quiet,  lady-like  voice 
— "  That  was  a  very  pretty  sell;  but  I'll  lay  you  a 
month's  pay  to  a  month's  pay  when  you  get  your 
step,  that  I  work  a  sell  on  you  that  you'll  remem- 
ber for  the  rest  of  your  days,  and  the  Regiment 
after  you  when  you're  dead  or  broke."  The 
Worm  wasn't  angry  in  the  least,  and  the  rest  of 
the  Mess  shouted.  Then  the  Senior  Subaltern 
looked  at  The  Worm  from  the  boots  upward,  and 
down  again,  and  said — "Done,  Baby."  The 
Worm  held  the  rest  of  the  Mess  to  witness  that 
the  bet  had  been  taken,  and  retired  into  a  book 
with  a  sweet  smile. 

Two  months  passed,  and  the  Senior  Subaltern 
still  educated  The  Worm,  who  began  to  move 
about  a  little  more  as  the  hot  weather  came  on. 
I  have  said  that  the  Senior  Subaltern  was  in  love. 
The  curious  thing  is  that  a  girl  was  in  love  with 
the  Senior  Subaltern.  Though  the  Colonel  said 
awful  things,  and  the  Majors  snorted,  and  the 
married  Captains  looked  unutterable  wisdom,  and 
the  juniors  scoffed,  those  two  were  engaged. 

The  Senior  Subaltern  was  so  pleased  with  get- 
ting his  Company  and  his  acceptance  at  the  same 
time  that  he  forgot  to  bother  The  Worm.  The 
girl  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  had  money  of  her  own. 
She  does  not  come  into  this  story  at  all. 

One  night,  at  the  beginning  of  the  hot  weather, 


212  His  Wedded  Wife 

all  the  Mess,  except  The  Worm  who  had  gone  to 
his  own  room  to  write  Home  letters,  were  sitting 
on  the  platform  outside  the  Mess  House.  The 
Band  had  finished  playing,  but  no  one  wanted  to 
go  in.  And  the  Captains'  wives  were  there  also. 
The  folly  of  a  man  in  love  is  unlimited.  The 
Senior  Subaltern  had  been  holding  forth  on  the 
merits  of  the  girl  he  was  engaged  to,  and  the 
ladies  were  purring  approval  while  the  men 
yawned,  when  there  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  in  the 
dark,  and  a  tired,  faint  voice  lifted  itself. 

"Where's  my  husband?" 

I  do  not  wish  in  the  least  to  reflect  on  the  mo- 
rality of  the  "Shikarris";  but  it  is  on  record  that 
four  men  jumped  up  as  if  they  had  been  shot. 
Three  of  them  were  married  men.  Perhaps  they 
were  afraid  that  their  wives  had  come  from  Home 
unbeknownst.  The  fourth  said  that  he  had  acted 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  He  explained 
this  afterward. 

Then  the  voice  cried,  "O  Lionel!"  Lionel  was 
the  Senior  Subaltern's  name.  A  woman  came 
into  the  little  circle  of  light  by  the  candles  on  the 
peg-tables,  stretching  out  her  hands  to  the  dark 
where  the  Senior  Subaltern  was,  and  sobbing. 
We  rose  to  our  feet,  feeling  that  things  were 
going  to  happen  and  ready  to  believe  the  worst. 
In  this  bad,  small  world  of  ours,  one  knows  so 
little   of  the   life  of  the   next  man     which,  after 


His  Wedded  Wife  213 

all,  is  entirely  his  own  concern — that  one  is  not 
surprised  when  a  crash  comes.  Anything  might 
turn  up  any  day  for  any  one.  Perhaps  the  Senior 
Subaltern  had  been  trapped  in  his  youth.  Men 
are  crippled  that  way,  occasionally.  We  didn't 
know;  we  wanted  to  hear;  and  the  Captains' 
wives  were  as  anxious  as  we.  If  he  had  been 
trapped,  he  was  to  be  excused;  for  the  woman 
from  nowhere,  in  the  dusty  shoes  and  grey  trav- 
eling-dress, was  very  lovely,  with  black  hair  and 
great  eyes  full  of  tears.  She  was  tall,  with  a  fine 
figure,  and  her  voice  had  a  running  sob  in  it  piti- 
ful to  hear.  As  soon  as  the  Senior  Subaltern 
stood  up,  she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
called  him  "  my  darling,"  and  said  she  could  not 
bear  waiting  alone  in  England,  and  his  letters 
were  so  short  and  cold,  and  she  was  his  to  the 
end  of  the  world,  and  would  he  forgive  her? 
This  did  not  sound  quite  like  a  lady's  way  of 
speaking.     It  was  too  demonstrative. 

Things  seemed  black  indeed,  and  the  Captains' 
wives  peered  under  their  eyebrows  at  the  Senior 
Subaltern,  and  the  Colonel's  face  set  like  the  Day 
of  Judgment  framed  in  grey  bristles,  and  no  one 
spoke  for  a  while. 

Next  the  Colonel  said,  very  shortly,  "Well, 
Sir  ?  "  and  the  woman  sobbed  afresh.  The  Senior 
Subaltern  was  half  choked  with  the  arms  round 
his  neck,  but  he  gasped  out — "  It's  a  damned  lie  I 


214  His  Wedded  Wife 

I  never  had  a  wife  in  my  life!  " — "  Don't  swear,'' 
said  the  Colonel.  "Come  into  the  Mess.  We 
must  sift  this  clear  somehow,"  and  he  sighed  to 
himself,  for  he  believed  in  his  "Shikarris,"  did 
the  Colonel. 

We  trooped  into  the  ante-room,  under  the  full 
lights,  and  there  we  saw  how  beautiful  the  woman 
was.  She  stood  up  in  the  middle  of  us  all,  some- 
times choking  with  crying,  then  hard  and  proud, 
and  then  holding  out  her  arms  to  the  Senior  Sub- 
altern. It  was  like  the  fourth  act  of  a  tragedy. 
She  told  us  how  the  Senior  Subaltern  had  married 
her  when  he  was  Home  on  leave  eighteen  months 
before;  and  she  seemed  to  know  all  that  we 
knew,  and  more  too,  of  his  people  and  his  past 
life.  He  was  white  and  ashy-grey,  trying  now 
and  again  to  break  into  the  torrent  of  her  words; 
and  we,  noting  how  lovely  she  was  and  what  a 
criminal  he  looked,  esteemed  him  a  beast  of  the 
worst  kind.     We  felt  sorry  for  him,  though. 

1  shall  never  forget  the  indictment  of  the  Senior 
Subaltern  by  his  wife.  Nor  will  he.  It  was  so 
sudden,  rushing  out  of  the  dark,  unannounced, 
into  our  dull  lives.  The  Captains'  wives  stood 
back;  but  their  eyes  were  alight,  and  you  could 
see  that  they  had  already  convicted  and  sentenced 
the  Senior  Subaltern.  The  Colonel  seemed  five 
years  older.  One  Major  was  shading  his  eyes 
with  his  hand  and  watching  the  woman  from  un- 


His  Wedded  Wife  215 

demeath  it.  Another  was  chewing  his  moustache 
and  smiling  quietly  as  if  he  were  witnessing  a 
play.  Full  in  the  open  space  in  the  centre,  by 
the  whist-tables,  the  Senior  Subaltern's  terrier  was 
hunting  for  fleas.  1  remember  all  this  as  clearly 
as  though  a  photograph  were  in  my  hand.  I  re- 
member the  look  of  horror  on  the  Senior  Subal- 
tern's face.  It  was  rather  like  seeing  a  man 
hanged ;  but  much  more  interesting.  Finally,  the 
woman  wound  up  by  saying  that  the  Senior  Sub- 
altern carried  a  double  F.  M.  in  tattoo  on  his  left 
shoulder.  We  all  knew  that,  and  to  our  innocent 
minds  it  seemed  to  clinch  the  matter.  But  one 
of  the  bachelor  Majors  said  very  politely,  "  I  pre- 
sume that  your  marriage-certificate  would  be 
more  to  the  purpose  ?" 

That  roused  the  woman.  She  stood  up  and 
sneered  at  the  Senior  Subaltern  for  a  cur,  and 
abused  the  Major  and  the  Colonel  and  all  the  rest. 
Then  she  wept,  and  then  she  pulled  a  paper  from 
her  breast,  saying  imperially,  "Take  that!  And 
let  my  husband — my  lawfully  wedded  husband 
— read  it  aloud — if  he  dare!  " 

There  was  a  hush,  and  the  men  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  as  the  Senior  Subaltern  came 
forward  in  a  dazed  and  dizzy  way,  and  took  the 
paper.  We  were  wondering,  as  we  stared, 
whether  there  was  anything  against  any  one  of 
us  that  might  turn  up  later  on.     The  Senior  Sub- 


216  His  Wedded  Wife 

altern's  throat  was  dry;  but,  as  he  ran  his  eye 
over  the  paper,  he  broke  out  into  a  hoarse  cackle 
of  relief,  and  said  to  the  woman,  "You  young 
blackguard!  "  But  the  woman  had  fled  through  a 
door,  and  on  the  paper  was  written,  "This  is  to 
certify  that  I,  The  Worm,  have  paid  in  full  my 
debts  to  the  Senior  Subaltern,  and,  further,  that 
the  Senior  Subaltern  is  my  debtor,  by  agreement 
on  the  23d  of  February,  as  by  the  Mess  attested, 
to  the  extent  of  one  month's  Captain's  pay,  in 
the  lawful  currency  of  the  Indian  Empire." 

Then  a  deputation  set  off  for  The  Worm's 
quarters  and  found  him,  betwixt  and  between, 
unlacing  his  stays,  with  the  hat,  wig,  and  serge 
dress,  on  the  bed.  He  came  over  as  he  was,  and 
the  "  Shikarris  "  shouted  till  the  Gunners'  Mess 
sent  over  to  know  if  they  might  have  a  share  of 
the  fun.  1  think  we  were  all,  except  the  Colonel 
and  the  Senior  Subaltern,  a  little  disappointed 
that  the  scandal  had  come  to  nothing.  But  that 
is  human  nature.  There  could  be  no  two  words 
about  The  Worm's  acting.  It  leaned  as  near  to 
a  nasty  tragedy  as  anything  this  side  of  a  joke 
can.  When  most  of  the  Subalterns  sat  upon  him 
with  sofa-cushions  to  find  out  why  he  had  not 
said  that  acting  was  his  strong  point,  he  an- 
swered very  quietly,  "I  don't  think  you  ever 
asked  me.  I  used  to  act  at  Home  with  my  sis- 
ters."    But  no  acting  with  girls  could  account  for 


His  Wedded  Wife  317 

The  Worm's  display  that  night.  Personally,  I 
think  it  was  in  bad  taste.  Besides  being  danger- 
ous. There  is  no  sort  of  use  in  playing  with  fire, 
even  for  fun. 

The  "Shikarris"  made  him  President  of  the 
Regimental  Dramatic  Club;  and,  when  the  Senior 
Subaltern  paid  up  his  debt,  which  he  did  at  once, 
The  Worm  sank  the  money  in  scenery  and 
dresses.  He  was  a  good  Worm;  and  the  "Shi- 
karris "  are  proud  of  him.  The  only  drawback  is 
that  he  has  been  christened  "Mrs.  Senior  Subal- 
tern " ;  and,  as  there  are  now  two  Mrs.  Senior 
Subalterns  in  the  Station,  this  is  sometimes  con- 
fusing to  strangers. 

Later  on,  I  will  tell  you  of  a  case  something 
like  this,  but  with  all  the  jest  left  out  and  nothing 
in  it  but  real  trouble. 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP 

While  the  snaffle  holds,  or  the  long-neck  stings, 
While  the  big  beam  tilts,  or  the  last  bell  rings, 
While  horses  are  horses  to  train  and  to  race, 
Then  women  and  wine  take  a  second  place 

For  me — for  me  — 

While  a  short  "  ten-three  " 
Has  a  field  to  squander  or  fence  to  face ! 

— Song  of  the  G.  R. 

THERE  are  more  ways  of  running  a  horse  to 
suit  your  book  than  pulling  his  head  off  in 
the  straight.  Some  men  forget  this.  Under- 
stand clearly  that  all  racing  is  rotten — as  every- 
thing connected  with  losing  money  must  be.  In 
India,  in  addition  to  its  inherent  rottenness,  it  has 
the  merit  of  being  two-thirds  sham;  looking 
pretty  on  paper  only.  Every  one  knows  every 
one  else  far  too  well  for  business  purposes. 
How  on  earth  can  you  rack  and  harry  and  post  a 
man  for  his  losings,  when  you  are  fond  of  his 
wife,  and  live  in  the  same  Station  with  him  ? 
He  says,  "On  the  Monday  following,"  "I  can't 
settle  just  yet."  You  say,  "All  right,  old  man," 
and  think  yourself  lucky  if  you  pull  off  nine  hun- 
dred out  of  a  two-thousand-rupee  debt.  Any 
way  you  look  at  it,  Indian  racing  is  immoral,  and 

221 


222  The  Broken-Link  Handicap 

expensively  immoral.  Which  is  much  worse. 
If  a  man  wants  your  money,  he  ought  to  ask  for 
it,  or  send  round  a  subscription-list,  instead  of 
juggling  about  the  country,  with  an  Australian 
larrikin;  a  "  brumby,"  with  as  much  breed  as  the 
boy;  a  brace  of  chumars  in  gold-laced  caps; 
three  or  four  t7,7uf-ponies  with  hogged  manes, 
and  a  switch-tailed  demirep  of  a  mare  called 
Arab  because  she  has  a  kink  in  her  flag.  Racing 
leads  to  the  shroff  quicker  than  anything  else. 
But  if  you  have  no  conscience  and  no  sentiments, 
and  good  hands,  and  some  knowledge  of  pace, 
and  ten  years'  experience  of  horses,  and  several 
thousand  rupees  a  month,  I  believe  that  you  can 
occasionally  contrive  to  pay  your  shoeing-bills. 

Did  you  ever  know  Shackles — b.  w.  g.,  15.  1^6 
— coarse,  loose,  mule-like  ears — barrel  as  long  as 
a  gatepost — tough  as  a  telegraph-wire — and  the 
queerest  brute  that  ever  looked  through  a  bridle  ? 
He  was  of  no  brand,  being  one  of  an  ear-nicked 
mob  taken  into  the  Bucephalus  at  £4 :10s.,  a 
head  to  make  up  freight,  and  sold  raw  and  out  of 
condition  at  Calcutta  for  R.S.27S.  People  who 
lost  money  on  him  called  him  a  "  brumby";  but 
if  ever  any  horse  had  Harpoon's  shoulders  and 
The  Gin's  temper,  Shackles  was  that  horse. 
Two  miles  was  his  own  particular  distance.  He 
trained  himself,  ran  himself,  and  rode  himself; 
and,  if  his  jockey  insulted  him  by  giving  him 


The  Broken- Link  Handicap  223 

hints,  he  shut  up  at  once  and  bucked  the  boy  off. 
He  objected  to  dictation.  Two  or  three  of  his 
owners  did  not  understand  this,  and  lost  money 
in  consequence.  At  last  he  was  bought  by  a 
man  who  discovered  that,  if  a  race  was  to  be 
won,  Shackles,  and  Shackles  only,  would  win  it 
in  his  own  way,  so  long  as  his  jockey  sat  still. 
This  man  had  a  riding-boy  called  Brunt — a  lad 
from  Perth,  West  Australia — and  he  taught 
Brunt,  wkh  a  trainer's  whip,  the  hardest  thing  a 
jock  can  learn — to  sit  still,  to  sit  still,  and  to  keep 
on  sitting  still.  When  Brunt  fairly  grasped  this 
truth,  Shackles  devastated  the  country.  No 
weight  could  stop  him  at  his  own  distance;  and 
the  fame  of  Shackles  spread  from  Ajmir  in  the 
South,  to  Chedputter  in  the  North.  There  was  no 
horse  like  Shackles,  so  long  as  he  was  allowed 
to  do  his  work  in  his  own  way.  But  he  was 
beaten  in  the  end;  and  the  story  of  his  fall  is 
enough  to  make  angels  weep. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  Chedputter  race- 
course, just  before  the  turn  into  the  straight,  the 
track  passes  close  to  a  couple  of  old  brick- 
mounds  enclosing  a  funnel-shaped  hollow.  The 
big  end  of  the  funnel  is  not  six  feet  from  the 
railings  on  the  off-side.  The  astounding  pecul- 
iarity of  the  course  is  that,  if  you  stand  at  one 
particular  place,  about  half  a  mile  away,  inside 
the  course,  and  speak  at  ordinary  pitch,  your 


224  The  Broken-Link  Handicap 

voice  just  hits  the  funnel  of  the  brick-mounds 
and  makes  a  curious  whining  echo  there.  A 
man  discovered  this  one  morning  by  accident 
while  out  training  with  a  friend.  He  marked 
the  place  to  stand  and  speak  from  with  a  couple 
of  bricks,  and  he  kept  his  knowledge  to  himself. 
Every  peculiarity  of  a  course  is  worth  remember- 
ing in  a  country  where  rats  play  the  mischief 
with  the  elephant-litter,  and  Stewards  build 
jumps  to  suit  their  own  stables.  This  man  ran  a 
very  fairish  country-bred,  a  long,  racking  high 
mare  with  the  temper  of  a  fiend,  and  the  paces 
of  an  airy  wandering  seraph — a  drifty,  glidy 
stretch.  The  mare  was,  as  a  delicate  tribute  to 
Mrs.  Reiver,  called  "The  Lady  Regula  Baddun" 
— or  for  short,  Regula  Baddun. 

Shackles'  jockey,  Brunt,  was  a  quite  well-be- 
haved boy,  but  his  nerve  had  been  shaken.  He 
began  his  career  by  riding  jump-races  in  Mel- 
bourne, where  a  few  Stewards  want  lynching, 
and  was  one  of  the  jockeys  who  came  through 
the  awful  butchery — perhaps  you  will  recollect 
it — of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate.  The  walls  were 
colonial  ramparts — logs  of  jarrah  spiked  into 
masonry — with  wings  as  strong  as  Church  but- 
tresses. Once  in  his  stride,  a  horse  had  to  jump 
or  fall.  He  couldn"t  run  out.  In  the  Maribyr- 
nong Plate,  twelve  horses  were  jammed  at  the 
second  wall.     Red   Hat,   leading,    fell  this  side, 


The  Broken- Link  Handicap  225 

and  threw  out  The  Gled,  and  the  ruck  came  up 
behind  and  the  space  between  wing  and  wing 
was  one  struggling,  screaming,  kicking  shambles. 
Four  jockeys  were  taken  out  dead;  three  were 
very  badly  hurt,  and  Brunt  was  among  the  three. 
He  told  the  story  of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate 
sometimes;  and  when  he  described  how  Whalley 
on  Red  Hat,  said,  as  the  mare  fell  under  him — 
"God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done  for!"  and  how,  next 
instant,  Sithee  There  and  White  Otter  had 
crushed  the  life  out  of  poor  Whalley,  and  the 
dust  hid  a  small  hell  of  men  and  horses,  no  one 
marveled  that  Brunt  had  dropped  jump-races 
and  Australia  together.  Regula  Baddun's  owner 
knew  that  story  by  heart.  Brunt  never  varied  it 
in  the  telling.     He  had  no  education. 

Shackles  came  to  the  Chedputter  Autumn  races 
one  year,  and  his  owner  walked  about  insulting 
the  sportsmen  of  Chedputter  generally,  till  they 
went  to  the  Honorary  Secretary  in  a  body  and 
said,  "Appoint  handicappers,  and  arrange  a  race 
which  shall  break  Shackles  and  humble  the 
pride  of  his  owner."  The  Districts  rose  against 
Shackles  and  sent  up  of  their  best;  Ousel,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  able  to  do  his  mile  in  1-53; 
Petard,  the  stud-bred,  trained  by  a  cavalry  regi- 
ment who  knew  how  to  train;  Gringalet,  the 
ewe-lamb  of  the  75th;  Bobolink,  the  pride  of 
Peshawar;  and  many  others. 


226  The  Broken-Link  Handicap 

They  called  that  race  The  Broken-Link  Handi- 
cap, because  it  was  to  smash  Shackles;  and  the 
Handicappers  piled  on  the  weights,  and  the  Fund 
gave  eight  hundred  rupees,  and  the  distance  was 
"round  the  course  for  all  horses."  Shackles' 
owner  said,  "You  can  arrange  the  race  with  re- 
gard to  Shackles  only.  So  long  as  you  don't 
bury  him  under  weight-cloths,  I  don't  mind." 
Regula  Baddun's  owner  said,  "I  throw  in  my 
mare  to  fret  Ousel.  Six  furlongs  is  Regula's  dis- 
tance, and  she  will  then  lie  down  and  die.  So 
also  will  Ousel,  for  his  jockey  doesn't  under- 
stand a  waiting  race."  Now,  this  was  a  lie,  for 
Regula  had  been  in  work  for  two  months  at 
Dehra,  and  her  chances  were  good,  always  sup- 
posing that  Shackles  broke  a  blood-vessel — or 
Brunt  moved  on  him. 

The  plunging  in  the  lotteries  was  fine.  They 
filled  eight  thousand-rupee  lotteries  on  the 
Broken-Link  Handicap,  and  the  account  in  the 
Pioneer  said  that  "  favoritism  was  divided."  !n 
plain  English,  the  various  contingents  were  wild 
on  their  respective  horses;  for  the  Handicappers 
had  done  their  work  well.  The  Honorary  Secre- 
tary shouted  himself  hoarse  through  the  din;  and 
the  smoke  of  the  cheroots  was  like  the  smoke. 
and  the  rattling  of  the  dice-boxes  like  the  rattle 
of  small-arm  lire. 

Ten    horses   started — very   level — and   Regula 


The  Broken-Link  Handicap  227 

Baddun's  owner  cantered  out  on  his  hack  to  a 
place  inside  the  circle  of  the  course,  where  two 
bricks  had  been  thrown.  He  faced  toward  the 
brick-mounds  at  the  lower  end  of  the  course  and 
waited. 

The  story  of  the  running  is  in  the  Pioneer.  At 
the  end  of  the  first  mile,  Shackles  crept  out  of 
the  ruck,  well  on  the  outside,  ready  to  get  round 
the  turn,  lay  hold  of  the  bit  and  spin  up  the 
straight  before  the  others  knew  he  had  got 
away.  Brunt  was  sitting  still,  perfectly  happy, 
listening  to  the  "drum-drum-drum"  of  the 
hoofs  behind,  and  knowing  that,  in  about 
twenty  strides,  Shackles  would  draw  one  deep 
breath  and  go  up  the  last  half-mile  like  the  "  Fly- 
ing Dutchman."  As  Shackles  went  short  to  take 
the  turn  and  came  abreast  of  the  brick-mound, 
Brunt  heard,  above  the  noise  of  the  wind  in  his 
ears,  a  whining,  wailing  voice  on  the  offside, 
saying — "God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done  for!"  In 
one  stride,  Brunt  saw  the  whole  seething  smash 
of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate  before  him,  started  in 
his  saddle  and  gave  a  yell  of  terror.  The  start 
brought  the  heels  into  Shackles'  side,  and  the 
scream  hurt  Shackles'  feelings.  He  couldn't  stop 
dead;  but  he  put  out  his  feet  and  slid  along  for 
fifty  yards,  and  then,  very  gravely  and  judicially, 
bucked  off  Brunt — a  shaking,  terror-stricken 
lump,  while  Regula  Baddun  made  a  neck-and- 


228  The  Broken-Link  Handicap 

neck  race  with  Bobolink  up  the  straight,  and 
won  by  a  short  head — Petard  a  bad  third. 
Shackles'  owner,  in  the  Stand,  tried  to  think 
that  his  field-glasses  had  gone  wrong.  Regula 
Baddun's  owner,  waiting  by  the  two  bricks,  gave 
one  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and  cantered  back  to  the 
Stand.  He  had  won,  in  lotteries  and  bets,  about 
fifteen  thousand. 

It  was  a  Broken-Link  Handicap  with  a  venge- 
ance. It  broke  nearly  all  the  men  concerned, 
and  nearly  broke  the  heart  of  Shackles'  owner. 
He  went  down  to  interview  Brunt.  The  boy 
lay,  livid  and  gasping  with  fright,  where  he  had 
tumbled  off.  The  sin  of  losing  the  race  never 
seemed  to  strike  him.  All  he  knew  was  that 
Whalley  had  "called  "  him,  that  the  "  call  "  was 
a  warning;  and,  were  he  cut  in  two  for  it,  he 
would  never  get  up  again.  His  nerve  had  gone 
altogether,  and  he  only  asked  his  master  to  give 
him  a  good  thrashing,  and  let  him  go.  He  was 
fit  for  nothing,  he  said.  He  got  his  dismissal,  and 
crept  up  to  the  paddock,  white  as  chalk,  with  blue 
lips,  his  knees  giving  way  under  him.  People 
said  nasty  things  in  the  paddock;  but  Brunt  never 
heeded.  He  changed  into  tweeds,  took  his  stick 
and  went  down  the  road,  still  shaking  with  fright, 
and  muttering  over  and  over  again — "God  ha' 
mercy,  I'm  done  for!  "  To  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge and  belief  he  spoke  the  truth. 


The  Broken-Link  Handicap  229 

So  now  you  know  how  the  Broken-Link  Hand- 
icap was  run  and  won.  Of  course  you  don't  be- 
lieve it.  You  would  credit  anything  about  Rus- 
sia's designs  on  India,  or  the  recommendations 
of  the  Currency  Commission;  but  a  little  bit  of 
sober  fact  is  more  than  you  can  stand. 


BEYOND  THE  PALE 


BEYOND  THE  PALE 

Love  heeds  not  caste  nor  sleep  a  broken  bed.  I  went  in 
search  of  love  and  lost  myself. — Hindu  Proverb. 

A  MAN  should,  whatever  happens,  keep  to 
his  own  caste,  race  and  breed.  Let  the 
White  go  to  the  White  and  the  Black  to  the 
Black.  Then,  whatever  trouble  falls  is  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  things — neither  sudden,  alien 
nor  unexpected. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  man  who  wilfully  stepped 
beyond  the  safe  limits  of  decent  everyday  so- 
ciety, and  paid  for  it  heavily. 

He  knew  too  much  in  the  first  instance;  and 
he  saw  too  much  in  the  second.  He  took  too 
deep  an  interest  in  native  life;  but  he  will  never 
do  so  again. 

Deep  away  in  the  heart  of  the  City,  behind 
Jitha  Megji's  bustee,  lies  Amir  Nath's  Gully, 
which  ends  in  a  dead-wall  pierced  by  one  grated 
window.  At  the  head  of  the  Gully  is  a  big 
cowbyre,  and  the  walls  on  either  side  of  the 
Gully  are  without  windows.  Neither  Suchet 
Singh  nor  Gaur  Chand  approve  of  their  women- 
folk looking  into  the  world.     If  Durga  Charan 

233 


2)4  Bcvoiul  the  Pale 

had  been  of  their  opinion,  he  would  have  been  a 
happier  man  to-day,  and  little  Bisesa  would  have 
been  able  to  knead  her  own  bread.  Her  room 
looked  out  through  the  grated  window  into  the 
narrow  dark  Gully  where  the  sun  never  came 
and  where  the  buffaloes  wallowed  in  the  blue 
slime.  She  was  a  widow,  about  fifteen  years 
old,  and  she  prayed  the  Gods,  day  and  night,  to 
send  her  a  lover;  for  she  did  not  approve  of  liv- 
ing alone. 

One  day,  the  man — Trejago  his  name  was — 
came  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  on  an  aimless  wan- 
dering; and,  after  he  had  passed  the  buffaloes, 
stumbled  over  a  big  heap  of  cattle-food. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  Gully  ended  in  a  trap, 
and  heard  a  little  laugh  from  behind  the  grated 
window.  It  was  a  pretty  little  laugh,  and  Tre- 
jago, knowing  that,  for  all  practical  purposes,  the 
old  Arabian  Nights  are  good  guides,  went  for- 
ward to  the  window,  and  whispered  that  verse 
of  "  The  Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal "  which  begins: 

Can  a  man  stand  upright  in  the  face  of  the  naked  Sun  ;  or 
a  Lover  in  (!  nee  of  his  Beloved  ? 

If  my  feet  fail  me,  0  Heart  ol  my  Heart,  am  I  to  blame, 
being  blinded  by  the  glimpse  of  your  beauty? 

There  came  the  faint  tchinh  of  a  woman's 
bracelets  from  behind  the  grating,  and  a  little 
voice  went  on  with  the  song  at  the  fifth  verse: 


Beyond  the  Pale  235 

Alas  !  alas !  Can  the  Moon  tell  the  Lotus  of  her  love  when 
the  Gate  of  Heaven  is  shut  and  the  clouds  gather  for  the  rains  ? 

They  have  taken  my  Beloved,  and  driven  her  with  the  pack- 
horses  to  the  North. 

There  are  iron  chains  on  the  feet  that  were  set  on  my  heart. 

Call  to  the  bowmen  to  make  ready  — 

The  voice  stopped  suddenly,  and  Trejago 
walked  out  of  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  wondering 
who  in  the  world  could  have  capped  "The  Love 
Song  of  Har  Dyal "  so  neatly. 

Next  morning,  as  he  was  driving  to  office,  an 
old  woman  threw  a  packet  into  his  dog-cart.  In 
the  packet  was  the  half  of  a  broken  glass-bangle, 
one  flower  of  the  blood-red  dhah,  a  pinch  of 
bhusa  or  cattle-food,  and  eleven  cardamoms. 
That  packet  was  a  letter — not  a  clumpsy  com- 
promising letter,  but  an  innocent  unintelligible 
lover's  epistle. 

Trejago  knew  far  too  much  about  these  things, 
as  I  have  said.  No  Englishman  should  be  able  to 
translate  object-letters.  But  Trejago  spread  all 
the  trifles  on  the  lid  of  his  office-box  and  began 
to  puzzle  them  out. 

A  broken  glass-bangle  stands  for  a  Hindu 
widow  all  India  over;  because,  when  her  hus- 
band dies,  a  woman's  bracelets  are  broken  on  her 
wrists.  Trejago  saw  the  meaning  of  the  little  bit 
of  the  glass.  The  flower  of  the  dhak  means 
diversely  "desire,"  "come,"  "  write,"  or  "dan- 


236  Beyond  the  Pale 

ger,"  according  to  the  other  things  with  it.  One 
cardamom  means  "jealousy";  but  when  any 
article  is  duplicated  in  an  object-letter,  it  loses  its 
symbolic  meaning  and  stands  merely  for  one  of  a 
number  indicating  time,  or,  if  incense,  curds,  or 
saffron  be  sent  also,  place.  The  message  ran 
then — "A  widow — dhah  flower  and  blutsa, — at 
eleven  o'clock."  The  pinch  of  bhusa  enlightened 
Trejago.  He  saw — this  kind  of  letter  leaves 
much  to  instinctive  knowledge — that  the  bhusa 
referred  to  the  big  heap  of  cattle-food  over  which 
he  had  fallen  in  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  and  that  the 
message  must  come  from  the  person  behind  the 
grating;  she  being  a  widow.  So  the  message 
ran  then — "A  widow,  in  the  Gully  in  which  is 
the  heap  of  bhusa,  desires  you  to  come  at  eleven 
o'clock." 

Trejago  threw  all  the  rubbish  into  the  fireplace 
and  laughed.  He  knew  that  men  in  the  Hast  do 
not  make  love  under  windows  at  eleven  in  the 
forenoon,  nor  do  women  fix  appointments  a 
week  in  advance.  So  he  went,  that  very  night 
at  eleven,  into  Amir  Nath*s  Gully,  clad  in  a 
boorka,  which  cloaks  a  man  as  well  as  a  woman. 
Directly  the  gongs  of  the  City  made  the  hour,  the 
little  voice  behind  the  grating  took  up  "  The  Love 
Song  of  Har  Dyal"  at  the  verse  where  the  Pan- 
than  girl  calls  upon  Har  Dyal  to  return.  The 
song  is  really  pretty  in  the  Vernacular.     In  Eng- 


Beyond  the  Pale  237 

lish  you  miss  the  wail  of  it.     It  runs  something 
like  this  — 

Alone  upon  the  housetops,  to  the  North 

I  turn  and  watch  the  lightning  in  the  sky, — 

The  glamour  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  North, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

Below  my  feet  the  still  bazar  is  laid 
Far,  far,  below  the  weary  camels  lie, — 

The  camels  and  the  captives  of  thy  raid. 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

My  father's  wife  is  old  and  harsh  with  years, 
And  drudge  of  all  my  father's  house  am  I. — 

My  bread  is  sorrow  and  my  drink  is  tears, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

As  the  song  stopped,  Trejago  stepped  up  under 
the  grating  and  whispered—"  I  am  here." 

Bisesa  was  good  to  look  upon. 

That  night  was  the  beginning  of  many  strange 
things,  and  of  a  double  life  so  wild  that  Trejago 
to-day  sometimes  wonders  if  it  were  not  all  a 
dream.  Bisesa,  or  her  old  handmaiden  who  had 
thrown  the  object-letter,  had  detached  the  heavy 
grating  from  the  brick-work  of  the  wall;  so  that 
the  window  slid  inside,  leaving  only  a  square  of 
raw  masonry  into  which  an  active  man  might 
climb. 

In  the  daytime,  Trejago  drove  through  his 
routine  of  office-work,   or  put  on  his  calling- 


2)8  Beyond  the  Pah' 

clothes  and  called  on  the  ladies  of  the  Station; 
wondering  how  long  they  would  know  him  if 
they  knew  of  poor  little  Bisesa.  At  night,  when 
all  the  City  was  still,  came  the  walk  under  the 
evil-smelling  boorha,  the  patrol  through  Jitha 
Megji's  bustee,  the  quick  turn  into  Amir  Nath's 
Gully  between  the  sleeping  cattle  and  the  dead 
walls,  and  then,  last  of  all,  Bisesa,  and  the  deep, 
even  breathing  of  the  old  woman  who  slept  out- 
side the  door  of  the  bare  little  room  that  Durga 
Charan  allotted  to  his  sister's  daughter.  Who  or 
what  Durga  Charan  was,  Trejago  never  inquired ; 
and  why  in  the  world  he  was  not  discovered  and 
knifed  never  occurred  to  him  till  his  madness  was 
over,  and  Bisesa     .     .     .     But  this  comes  later. 

Bisesa  was  an  endless  delight  to  Trejago.  She 
was  as  ignorant  as  a  bird;  and  her  distorted  ver- 
sions of  the  rumors  from  the  outside  world  that 
had  reached  her  in  her  room,  amused  Trejago  al- 
most as  much  as  her  lisping  attempts  to  pro- 
nounce his  name — "  Christopher."  The  first 
syllable  was  always  more  than  she  could  manage, 
and  she  made  funnv  little  gestures  with  her  rose- 
leaf  hands,  as  one  throwing  the  name  away,  and 
then,  kneeling  before  Trejago,  asked  him,  exactly 
as  an  Englishwoman  would  do,  if  he  were  sure 
he  loved  her.  Trejago  swore  that  he  loved  her 
more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Which 
was  true. 


Beyond  the  Pale  239 

After  a  month  of  this  folly,  the  exigencies  of 
his  other  life  compelled  Trejago  to  be  especially 
attentive  to  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance.  You 
may  take  it  for  a  fact  that  anything  of  this  kind 
is  not  only  noticed  and  discussed  by  a  man's  own 
race  but  by  some  hundred  and  fifty  natives  as 
well.  Trejago  had  to  walk  with  this  lady  and 
talk  to  her  at  the  Band-stand,  and  once  or  twice 
to  drive  with  her;  never  for  an  instant  dreaming 
that  this  would  affect  his  dearer,  out-of-the-way 
life.  But  the  news  flew,  in  the  usual  mysterious 
fashion,  from  mouth  to  mouth,  till  Bisesa's 
duenna  heard  of  it  and  told  Bisesa.  The  child 
was  so  troubled  that  she  did  the  household  work 
evilly,  and  was  beaten  by  Durga  Charan's  wife 
in  consequence. 

A  week  later,  Bisesa  taxed  Trejago  with  the 
flirtation.  She  understood  no  gradations  and 
spoke  openly.  Trejago  laughed  and  Bisesa 
stamped  her  little  feet— little  feet,  light  as  mari- 
gold flowers,  that  could  lie  in  the  palm  of  a  man's 
one  hand. 

Much  that  is  written  about  Oriental  passion 
and  impulsiveness  is  exaggerated  and  compiled 
at  second-hand,  but  a  little  of  it  is  true;  and 
when  an  Englishman  finds  that  little,  it  is  quite 
as  startling  as  any  passion  in  his  own  proper  life. 
Bisesa  raged  and  stormed,  and  finally  threatened 
to  kill  herself  if  Trejago  did  not  at  once  drop  the 


240  Beyond  the  Pale 

alien  Memsahib  who  had  come  between  them. 
Trejago  tried  to  explain,  and  to  show  her  that  she 
did  not  understand  these  things  from  a  Western 
standpoint.      Bisesa  drew  herself  up,  and  said 

simply  — 

"I  do  not.  I  know  only  this — it  is  not  good 
that  1  should  have  made  you  dearer  than  my  own 
heart  to  me,  Sahib.  You  are  an  Englishman.  1 
am  only  a  black  girl" — she  was  fairer  than  bar- 
gold  in  the  Mint, — "and  the  widow  of  a  black 
man." 

Then  she  sobbed  and  said — "  But  on  my  soul 
and  my  Mother's  soul,  !  love  you.  There  shall 
no  harm  come  to  you,  whatever  happens  to  me." 

Trejago  argued  with  the  child,  and  tried  to 
soothe  her,  but  she  seemed  quite  unreasonably 
disturbed.  Nothing  would  satisfy  her  save  that 
all  relations  between  them  should  end.  He  was 
to  go  away  at  once.  And  he  went.  As  he 
dropped  out  of  the  window,  she  kissed  his  fore- 
head twice,  and  he  walked  home  wondering. 

A  week,  and  then  three  weeks,  passed  without 
a  sign  from  Bisesa.  Trejago,  thinking  that  the 
rupture  had  lasted  quite  long  enough,  went 
down  to  Amir  Nath's  Gully  for  the  fifth  time 
in  the  three  weeks,  hoping  that  his  rap  at  the  sill 
of  the  shifting  grating  would  be  answered.  He 
was  not  disappointed. 

There  was  a  young  moon,  and  one  stream  ol 


Beyond  the  Pale  241 

light  fell  down  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  and 
struck  the  grating  which  was  drawn  away  as  he 
knocked.  From  the  black  dark,  Bisesa  held  out 
her  arms  into  the  moonlight.  Both  hands  had 
been  cut  off  at  the  wrists,  and  the  stumps  were 
nearly  healed. 

Then,  as  Bisesa  bowed  her  head  between  her 
arms  and  sobbed,  some  one  in  the  room  grunted 
like  a  wild  beast,  and  something  sharp — knife, 
sword,  or  spear, — thrust  at  Trejago  in  his  boorka. 
The  stroke  missed  his  body,  but  cut  into  one  of 
the  muscles  of  the  groin,  and  he  limped  slightly 
from  the  wound  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

The  grating  went  into  its  place.  There  was 
no  sign  whatever  from  inside  the  house, — noth- 
ing but  the  moonlight  strip  on  the  high  wall,  and 
the  blackness  of  Amir  Nath's  Gully  behind. 

The  next  thing  Trejago  remembers,  after  rag- 
ing and  shouting  like  a  madman  between  those 
pitiless  walls,  is  that  he  found  himself  near  the 
river  as  the  dawn  was  breaking,  threw  away  his 
boorka  and  went  home  bareheaded. 

****** 

What  was  the  tragedy — whether  Bisesa  had, 
in  a  fit  of  causeless  despair,  told  everything,  or 
the  intrigue  had  been  discovered  and  she  tortured 
to  tell;  whether  Durga  Charan  knew  his  name 
and  what  became  of  Bisesa — Trejago  does  not 


242  Beyond  the  Pale 

know  to  this  day.  Something  horrible  had  hap- 
pened, and  the  thought  of  what  it  must  have 
been,  comes  upon  Trejago  in  the  night  now  and 
again,  and  keeps  him  company  till  the  morning. 
One  special  feature  of  the  case  is  that  he  does 
not  know  where  lies  the  front  of  Durga  Charan's 
house.  It  may  open  on  to  a  courtyard  common 
to  two  or  more  houses,  or  it  may  lie  behind  any 
one  of  the  gates  of  Jitha  Megji's  bustee,  Trejago 
cannot  tell.  He  cannot  get  Bisesa — poor  little 
Bisesa — back  again.  He  has  lost  her  in  the  City 
where  each  man's  house  is  as  guarded  and  as 
unknowable  as  the  grave;  and  the  grating  that 
opens  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  has  been  walled  up. 

But  Trejago  pays  his  calls  regularly,  and  is 
reckoned  a  very  decent  sort  of  man. 

There  is  nothing  peculiar  about  him,  except  a 
slight  stiffness,  caused  by  a  riding-strain,  in  the 
right  leg. 


IN  ERROR 


IN  ERROR 

They  burned  a  corpse  upon  the  sand  — 

The  light  shone  out  afar; 
It  guided  home  the  plunging  boats 

That  beat  from  Zanzibar. 
Spirit  of  Fire,  where'er  Thy  altars  rise, 
Thou  art  Light  of  Guidance  to  our  eyes ! 

— Sakette  Boat- Song. 

THERE  is  hope  for  a  man  who  gets  publicly 
and  riotously  drunk  more  often  than  he 
ought  to  do;  but  there  is  no  hope  for  the  man 
who  drinks  secretly  and  alone  in  his  own  house 
— the  man  who  is  never  seen  to  drink. 

This  is  a  rule;  so  there  must  be  an  exception 
to  prove  it.     Moriarty's  case  was  that  exception. 

He  was  a  Civil  Engineer,  and  the  Government, 
very  kindly,  put  him  quite  by  himself  in  an  out- 
district,  with  nobody  but  natives  to  talk  to  and  a 
great  deal  of  work  to  do.  He  did  his  work  well 
in  the  four  years  he  was  utterly  alone;  but  he 
picked  up  the  vice  of  secret  and  solitary  drink- 
ing, and  came  up  out  of  the  wilderness  more  old 
and  worn  and  haggard  than  the  dead-alive  life 
had  any  right  to  make  him.  You  know  the  say- 
ing that  a  man  who  has  been  alone  in  the  jungle 

245 


246  ///   Error 

for  more  than  a  year  is  never  quite  sane  all  his 
life  after.  People  credited  Moriarty's  queerness 
of  manner  and  moody  ways  to  the  solitude,  and 
said  that  it  showed  how  Government  spoiled  the 
futures  of  its  best  men.  Moriarty  had  built  him- 
self the  plinth  of  a  very  good  reputation  in  the 
bridge-dam-girder  line.  But  he  knew,  every 
night  of  the  week,  that  he  was  taking  steps  to 
undermine  that  reputation  with  L.  L.  L.  and 
Christopher  and  little  nips  of  liquors,  and  filth 
of  that  kind.  He  had  a  sound  constitution  and  a 
great  brain,  or  else  he  would  have  broken  down 
and  died  like  a  sick  camel  in  the  district.  As 
better  men  have  done  before  him. 

Government  ordered  him  to  Simla  after  he  had 
come  out  of  the  desert;  and  he  went  up  meaning 
to  try  for  a  post  then  vacant.  That  season,  Mrs. 
Reiver — perhaps  you  will  remember  her — was  in 
the  height  of  her  power,  and  many  men  lay 
under  her  yoke.  Everything  bad  that  could  be 
said  has  already  been  said  about  Mrs.  Reiver,  in 
another  tale.  Moriarty  was  heavily-built  and 
handsome,  very  quiet  and  nervously  anxious  to 
please  his  neighbors  when  he  wasn't  sunk  in  a 
brown  study,  he  started  a  good  deal  at  sudden 
noises  or  if  spoken  to  without  warning;  and, 
when  you  watched  him  drinking  his  glass  of 
water  at  dinner,  you  couKl  see  the  hand  shake  a 
little.    But  all  this  was  put  down  to  nervousness, 


In  Error  247 

and  the  quiet,  steady,  sip-sip-sip,  fill  and  sip-sip- 
sip  again  that  went  on  in  his  own  room  when  he 
was  by  himself,,  was  never  known.  Which  was 
miraculous,  seeing  how  everything  in  a  man's 
private  life  is  public  property  in  India. 

Moriarty  was  drawn,  not  into  Mrs.  Reiver's 
set,  because  they  were  not  his  sort,  but  into  the 
power  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  and  he  fell  down  in  front 
of  her  and  made  a  goddess  of  her.  This  was 
due  to  his  coming  fresh  out  of  the  jungle  to  a 
big  town.  He  could  not  scale  things  properly  or 
see  who  was  what. 

Because  Mrs.  Reiver  was  cold  and  hard,  he  said 
she  was  stately  and  dignified.  Because  she  had 
no  brains,  and  could  not  talk  cleverly,  he  said  she 
was  reserved  and  shy.  Mrs.  Reiver  shy!  Be- 
cause she  was  unworthy  of  honor  or  reverence 
from  any  one,  he  reverenced  her  from  a  distance 
and  dowered  her  with  all  the  virtues  in  the  Bible 
and  most  of  those  in  Shakespeare. 

This  big,  dark,  abstracted  man  who  was  so 
nervous  when  a  pony  cantered  behind  him,  used 
to  moon  in  the  train  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  blushing 
with  pleasure  when  she  threw  a  word  or  two  his 
way.  His  admiration  was  strictly  platonic;  even 
other  women  saw  and  admitted  this.  He  did  not 
move  out  in  Simla,  so  he  heard  nothing  against 
his  idol:  which  was  satisfactory.  Mrs.  Reiver 
took  no  special  notice  of  him,  beyond  seeing  that 


248  In  Error 

he  was  added  to  her  list  of  admirers,  and  going 
for  a  walk  with  him  now  and  then,  just  to  show 
that  he  was  her  property,  claimable  as  such. 
Moriarty  must  have  done  most  of  the  talking,  for 
Mrs.  Reiver  couldn't  talk  much  to  a  man  of  his 
stamp;  and  the  little  she  said  could  not  have  been 
profitable.  What  Moriarty  believed  in,  as  he  had 
good  reason  to,  was  Mrs.  Reiver's  influence  over 
him,  and,  in  that  belief,  set  himself  seriously  to 
try  to  do  away  with  the  vice  that  only  he  himself 
knew  of. 

His  experiences  while  he  was  fighting  with  it 
must  have  been  peculiar,  but  he  never  described 
them.  Sometimes  he  would  hold  off  from  every- 
thing except  water  for  a  week.  Then,  on  a  rainy 
night,  when  no  one  had  asked  him  out  to  dinner, 
and  there  was  a  big  fire  in  his  room,  and  every- 
thing comfortable,  he  would  sit  down  and  make 
a  big  night  of  it  by  adding  little  nip  to  little  nip, 
planning  big  schemes  of  reformation  meanwhile, 
until  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed  hopelessly 
drunk.     He  suffered  next  morning. 

One  night  the  big  crash  came.  He  was  troubled 
in  his  own  mind  over  his  attempts  to  make  him- 
self "worthy  of  the  friendship  "  of  Mrs.  Reiver. 
The  past  ten  days  had  been  very  bad  ones,  and 
the  end  of  it  all  was  that  he  received  the  arrears 
of  two  and  three  quarter  years  of  sipping  in  one 
attack  of  delirium  tremens  of  the  subdued  kind; 


In  Error  249 

beginning  with  suicidal  depression,  going  on  to 
fits  and  starts  and  hysteria,  and  ending  with 
downright  raving.  As  he  sat  in  a  chair  in  front 
of  the  fire,  or  walked  up  and  down  the  room  pick- 
ing a  handkerchief  to  pieces,  you  heard  what 
poor  Moriarty  really  thought  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  for 
he  raved  about  her  and  his  own  fall  for  the  most 
part;  though  he  raveled  some  P.  W.  D.  accounts 
into  the  same  skein  of  thought.  He  talked  and 
talked,  and  talked  in  a  low  dry  whisper  to  him- 
self, and  there  was  no  stopping  him.  He  seemed 
to  know  that  there  was  something  wrong,  and 
twice  tried  to  pull  himself  together  and  confer 
rationally  with  the  Doctor;  but  his  mind  ran  out 
of  control  at  once,  and  he  fell  back  to  a  whisper 
and  the  story  of  his  troubles.  It  is  terrible  to 
hear  a  big  man  babbling  like  a  child  of  all  that  a 
man  usually  locks  up,  and  puts  away  in  the  deep 
of  his  heart.  Moriarty  read  out  his  very  soul  for 
the  benefit  of  any  one  who  was  in  the  room  be- 
tween ten-thirty  that  night  and  two-forty- five 
next  morning. 

From  what  he  said,  one  gathered  how  immense 
an  influence  Mrs.  Reiver  held  over  him,  and  how 
thoroughly  he  felt  for  his  own  lapse.  His  whis- 
perings cannot,  of  course,  be  put  down  here;  but 
they  were  very  instructive — as  showing  the  errors 
of  his  estimates. 


2<jO  hi  Error 

When  the  trouble  was  over,  and  his  few  ac- 
quaintances were  pitying  him  for  the  bad  at- 
tack of  jungle-fever  that  had  so  pulled  him 
down,  Moriarty  swore  a  big  oath  to  himself  and 
went  abroad  again  with  Mrs.  Reiver  till  the  end 
of  the  season,  adoring  her  in  a  quiet  and  deferen- 
tial way  as  an  angel  from  heaven.  Later  on,  he 
took  to  riding — not  hacking,  but  honest  riding — 
which  was  good  proof  that  he  was  improving, 
and  you  could  slam  doors  behind  him  without  his 
jumping  to  his  feet  with  a  gasp.  That,  again, 
was  hopeful. 

How  he  kept  his  oath,  and  what  it  cost  him  in 
the  beginning  nobody  knows.  He  certainly  man- 
aged to  compass  the  hardest  thing  that  a  man 
who  has  drunk  heavily  can  do.  He  took  his  peg 
and  wine  at  dinner;  but  he  never  drank  alone, 
and  never  let  what  he  drank  have  the  least  hold 
on  him. 

Once  he  told  a  bosom-friend  the  story  of  his 
great  trouble,  and  how  the  "  influence  of  a  pure 
honest  woman,  and  an  angel  as  well  "  had  saved 
him.  When  the  man — startled  at  anything  good 
being  laid  to  Mrs.  Reiver's  door — laughed,  it  cost 
him  Moriarty's  friendship.  Moriarty,  who  is 
married  now  to  a  woman  ten  thousand  times  bet- 
ter than  Mrs.  Reiver — a  woman  who  believes 
that  there  is  no  man  on  earth  as  good  and  clever 
as  her  husband — will  go  down  to  his  grave  vow- 


In  Error 


251 


ing  and  protesting  that  Mrs.  Reiver  saved  him 
from  ruin  in  both  worlds. 

That  she  knew  anything  of  Moriarty's  weak- 
ness nobody  believed  for  a  moment.  That  she 
would  have  cut  him  dead,  thrown  him  over,  and 
acquainted  all  her  friends  with  her  discovery,  if 
she  had  known  of  it,  nobody  who  knew  her 
doubted  for  an  instant. 

Moriarty  thought  her  something  she  never  was, 
and  in  that  belief  saved  himself.  Which  was  just 
as  good  as  though  she  had  been  everything  that 
he  had  imagined. 

But  the  question  is,  What  claim  will  Mrs. 
Reiver  have  to  the  credit  of  Moriarty's  salvation, 
when  her  day  of  reckoning  comes  ? 


A  BANK  FRAUD 


A  BANK  FRAUD 

He  drank  strong  waters  and  his  speech  was  coarse; 

He  purchased  raiment  and  forbore  to  pay ; 
He  stuck  a  trusting  junior  with  a  horse, 

And  won  Gymkhanas  in  a  doubtful  way. 
Then,  'twixt  a  vice  and  folly,  turned  aside 
To  do  good  deeds  and  straight  to  cloak  them,  lied. 

—  The  Mess  Room. 

IF  Reggie  Burke  were  in  India  now,  he  would 
resent  this  tale  being  told;  but  as  he  is  in 
Hongkong  and  won't  see  it,  the  telling  is  safe. 
He  was  the  man  who  worked  the  big  fraud  on 
the  Sind  and  Sialkote  Bank.  He  was  manager  of 
an  up-country  Branch,  and  a  sound  practical  man 
with  a  large  experience  of  native  loan  and  insur- 
ance work.  He  could  combine  the  frivolities  of 
ordinary  life  with  his  work,  and  yet  do  well. 
Reggie  Burke  rode  anything  that  would  let  him 
get  up,  danced  as  neatly  as  he  rode,  and  was 
wanted  for  every  sort  of  amusement  in  the 
Station. 

As  he  said  himself,  and  as  many  men  found 
out  rather  to  their  surprise,  there  were  two 
Burkes,  both  very  much  at  your  service.  "Reg- 
gie Burke,"  between  four  and  ten,  ready  for  any- 
thing from  a  hot-weather  gymkhana  to  a  riding- 

255 


2^6  A   Bank   Fraud 

picnic,  and,  between  ten  and  four,  "  Mr.  Reginald 
Burke,  Manager  of  the  Sind  and  Sialkote  Branch 
Bank."  You  might  play  polo  with  him  one 
afternoon  and  hear  him  express  his  opinions 
when  a  man  crossed;  and  you  might  call  on  him 
next  morning  to  raise  a  two-thousand  rupee  loan 
on  a  five  hundred  pound  insurance  policy,  eighty 
pounds  paid  in  premiums.  He  would  recognize 
you,  but  you  would  have  some  trouble  in  recog- 
nizing him. 

The  Directors  of  the  Bank — it  had  its  headquar- 
ters in  Calcutta  and  its  General  Manager's  word 
carried  weight  with  the  Government — picked 
their  men  well.  They  had  tested  Reggie  up  to 
a  fairly  severe  breaking-strain.  They  trusted 
him  just  as  much  as  Directors  ever  trust  Manag- 
ers. You  must  see  for  yourself  whether  their 
trust  was  misplaced. 

Reggie's  Branch  was  in  a  big  Station,  and 
worked  with  the  usual  staff — one  Manager,  one 
Accountant,  both  English,  a  Cashier,  and  a  horde 
of  native  clerks;  besides  the  Police  patrol  at 
nights  outside.  The  bulk  of  its  work,  for  it  was 
in  a  thriving  district,  was  hoondi  and  accommoda- 
tion of  all  kinds.  A  fool  has  no  grip  of  this  sort 
of  business;  and  a  clever  man  who  does  not  go 
about  among  his  clients,  and  know  more  than  a 
little  of  their  affairs,  is  worse  than  a  fool.  Reg- 
gie  was    young-looking,    clean-shaved,    with   a 


A  Bank  Fraud  257 

twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  a  head  that  nothing  short 
of  a  gallon  of  the  Gunners'  Madeira  could  make 
any  impression  on. 

One  day,  at  a  big  dinner,  he  announced  casu- 
ally that  the  Directors  had  shifted  on  to  him  a 
Natural  Curiosity,  from  England,  in  the  Account- 
ant line.  He  was  perfectly  correct.  Mr.  Silas 
Riley,  Accountant,  was  a  most  curious  animal — 
a  long,  gawky,  rawboned  Yorkshireman,  full  of 
the  savage  self-conceit  that  blossoms  only  in  the 
best  county  in  England.  Arrogance  was  a  mild 
word  for  the  mental  attitude  of  Mr.  S.  Riley.  He 
had  worked  himself  up,  after  seven  years,  to  a 
Cashier's  position  in  a  Huddersfield  Bank;  and 
all  his  experience  lay  among  the  factories  of  the 
North.  Perhaps  he  would  have  done  better  on 
the  Bombay  side,  where  they  are  happy  with 
one-half  per  cent,  profits,  and  money  is  cheap. 
He  was  useless  for  Upper  India  and  a  wheat 
Province,  where  a  man  wants  a  large  head  and  a 
touch  of  imagination  if  he  is  to  turn  out  a  satis- 
factory balance-sheet. 

He  was  wonderfully  narrow-minded  in  busi- 
ness, and,  being  new  to  the  country,  had  no 
notion  that  Indian  banking  is  totally  distinct  from 
Home  work.  Like  most  clever  self-made  men, 
he  had  much  simplicity  in  his  nature;  and,  some- 
how or  other,  had  construed  the  ordinarily  polite 
terms  of  his  letter  of  engagement  into  a  belief 


2S8  A  Bank  Fraud 

that  the  Directors  had  chosen  him  on  account  of 
his  special  and  brilliant  talents,  and  that  they  set 
great  store  by  him.  This  notion  grew  and 
crystallized;  thus  adding  to  his  natural  North- 
country  conceit.  Further,  he  was  delicate,  suf- 
fered from  some  trouble  in  his  chest,  and  was 
short  in  his  temper. 

You  will  admit  that  Reggie  had  reason  to  call 
his  new  Accountant  a  Natural  Curiosity.  The 
two  nun  failed  to  hit  it  off  at  all.  Riley  con- 
sidered Reggie  a  wild,  feather-headed  idiot,  given 
to  Heaven  only  knew  what  dissipation  in  low 
places  called  "Messes,"  and  totally  unfit  for  the 
serious  and  solemn  vocation  of  banking.  He 
could  never  get  over  Reggie's  look  of  youth  and 
"you-be-damned"  air;  and  he  couldn't  under- 
stand Reggie's  friends— clean-built,  careless  men 
in  the  Army — who  rode  over  to  big  Sunday 
breakfasts  at  the  Bank,  and  told  sultry  stories  till 
Riley  got  up  and  left  the  room.  Riley  was  al- 
ways showing  Reggie  how  the  business  ought  to 
be  conducted,  and  Reggie  had  more  than  once  to 
remind  him  that  seven  years'  limited  experience 
between  Hudderstield  and  Beverley  did  not 
qualify  a  man  to  steer  a  big  up-country  business. 
Then  Riley  sulked,  and  referred  to  himself  as  a 
pillar  of  the  Bank  and  a  cherished  friend  of  the 
Directors,  and  Reggie  tore  his  hair.  If  a  man's 
English  subordinates  tail  him  in  India,  he  comes 


A  Bank  Fraud  259 

to  a  hard  time  indeed,  for  native  help  has  strict 
limitations.  In  the  winter  Riley  went  sick  for 
weeks  at  a  time  with  his  lung  complaint,  and 
this  threw  more  work  on  Reggie.  But  he  pre- 
ferred it  to  the  everlasting  friction  when  Riley 
was  well. 

One  of  the  Traveling  Inspectors  of  the  Bank 
discovered  these  collapses  and  reported  them  to 
the  Directors.  Now  Riley  had  been  foisted  on 
the  Bank  by  an  M.P.,  who  wanted  the  support 
of  Riley's  father  who,  again,  was  anxious  to  get 
his  son  out  to  a  warmer  climate  because  of  those 
lungs.  The  M.P.,  had  interest  in  the  Bank;  but 
one  of  the  Directors  wanted  to  advance  a  nomi- 
nee of  his  own;  and,  after  Riley's  father  had 
died,  he  made  the  rest  of  the  Board  see  that  an 
Accountant  who  was  sick  for  half  the  year,  had 
better  give  place  to  a  healthy  man.  If  Riley  had 
known  the  real  story  of  his  appointment,  he 
might  have  behaved  better;  but,  knowing  noth- 
ing, his  stretches  of  sickness  alternated  with  rest- 
less, persistent,  meddling  irritation  of  Reggie, 
and  all  the  hundred  ways  in  which  conceit  in  a 
subordinate  situation  can  find  play.  Reggie  used 
to  call  him  striking  and  hair-curling  names  be- 
hind his  back  as  a  relief  to  his  own  feelings;  but 
he  never  abused  him  to  his  face,  because  he  said, 
"  Riley  is  such  a  frail  beast  that  half  of  his  loath- 
some conceit  is  due  to  pains  in  the  chest." 


260  A  Bank  Fraud 


Late  one  April,  Riley  went  very  sick  indeed. 
The  Doctor  punched  him  and  thumped  him,  and 
told  him  he  would  be  better  before  long.  Then 
the  Doctor  went  to  Reggie  and  said — "Do  you 
know  how  sick  your  Accountant  is?" — "No!" 
said  Reggie — "The  worse  the  better,  confound 
him!  He's  a  clacking  nuisance  when  he's  well. 
I'll  let  you  take  away  the  Bank  Safe  if  you  can 
drug  him  silent  for  this  hot  weather." 

But  the  Doctor  did  not  laugh — "Man,  I'm  not 
joking,"  he  said.  "I'll  give  him  another  three 
months  in  his  bed  and  a  week  or  so  more  to  die 
in.  On  my  honor  and  reputation  that's  all  the 
grace  he  has  in  this  world.  Consumption  has 
hold  of  him  to  the  marrow." 

Reggie's  face  changed  at  once  into  the  face  of 
"  Mr.  Reginald  Burke,"  and  he  answered,  "  What 
can  I  do?" — "Nothing,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  For 
all  practical  purposes  the  man  is  dead  already. 
Keep  him  quiet  and  cheerful,  and  tell  him  he's 
going  to  recover.  That's  all.  I'll  look  after  him 
to  the  end,  of  course." 

The  Doctor  went  away,  and  Reggie  sat  down 
to  open  the  evening  mail.  His  first  letter  was 
one  from  the  Directors,  intimating  for  his  infor- 
mation that  Mr.  Riley  was  to  resign,  under  a 
month's  notice,  by  the  terms  of  his  agreement, 
telling  Reggie  that  their  letter  to  Riley  would  fol- 
low, and  advising  Reggie  of  the  coming  of  a  new 


A  Bank  Fraud  261 

Accountant,  a  man  whom  Reggie  knew  and 
liked. 

Reggie  lit  a  cheroot,  and,  before  he  had  finished 
smoking,  he  had  sketched  the  outline  of  a  fraud. 
He  put  away — burked — the  Directors'  letter,  and 
went  in  to  talk  to  Riley,  who  was  as  ungracious 
as  usual,  and  fretting  himself  over  the  way  the 
Bank  would  run  during  his  illness.  He  never 
thought  of  the  extra  work  on  Reggie's  shoulders, 
but  solely  of  the  damage  to  his  own  prospects  of 
advancement.  Then  Reggie  assured  him  that 
everything  would  be  well,  and  that  he,  Reggie, 
would  confer  with  Riley  daily  on  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Bank.  Riley  was  a  little  soothed, 
but  he  hinted  in  as  many  words  that  he  did  not 
think  much  of  Reggie's  business  capacity.  Reg- 
gie was  humble.  And  he  had  letters  in  his  desk 
from  the  Directors  that  a  Gilbarte  or  a  Hardie 
might  have  been  proud  of! 

The  days  passed  in  the  big  darkened  house, 
and  the  Directors'  letter  of  dismissal  to  Riley 
came  and  was  put  away  by  Reggie,  who,  every 
evening,  brought  the  books  to  Riley's  room,  and 
showed  him  what  had  been  going  forward,  while 
Riley  snarled.  Reggie  did  his  best  to  make  state- 
ments pleasing  to  Riley,  but  the  Accountant  was 
sure  that  the  Bank  was  going  to  rack  and  ruin 
without  him.  In  June,  as  the  lying  in  bed  told 
on  his  spirit,  he  asked  whether  his  absence  had 


2^2  A   Bank   Fraud 

been  noted  by  the  Directors,  and  Reggie  said  that 
they  had  written  most  sympathetic  letters,  hop- 
ing that  he  would  be  able  to  resume  his  valuable 
service  before  long.  He  showed  Riley  the  let- 
ters; and  Riley  said  that  the  Directors  ought  to 
have  written  to  him  direct.  A  few  days  later, 
Reggie  opened  Riley's  mail  in  the  half-light  of 
the  room,  and  gave  him  the  sheet — not  the  en- 
velope— of  a  letter  to  Riley  from  the  Directors. 
Riley  said  he  would  thank  Reggie  not  to  inter- 
fere with  his  private  papers,  specially  as  Reggie 
knew  he  was  too  weak  to  open  his  own  letters. 
Reggie  apologized. 

Then  Rilev's  mood  changed,  and  he  lectured 
Reggie  on  his  evil  ways:  his  horses  and  his  bad 
friends.  "Of  course  lying  here,  on  my  back, 
Mr.  Burke,  I  can't  keep  you  straight;  but  when 
I'm  well,  I  do  hope  you'll  pay  some  heed  to  my 
words."  Reggie,  who  had  dropped  polo,  and 
dinners,  and  tennis  and  all,  to  attend  to  Riley, 
said  that  he  was  penitent  and  settled  Riley's  head 
on  the  pillow  and  heard  him  fret  and  contradict 
in  hard,  dry,  hacking  whispers,  without  a  sign  of 
impatience.  This,  at  the  end  of  a  heavy  day's 
office  work,  doing  double  duty,  in  the  latter  half 
of  June. 

When  the  new  Accountant  came,  Reggie  told 
him  the  facts  of  the  case,  and  announced  to  Riley 
that  he  had  a  guest  staying  with  him.     Rilev  said 


A  Bank  Fraud  263 

that  he  might  have  had  more  consideration  than 
to  entertain  his  "doubtful  friends"  at  such  a 
time.  Reggie  made  Carron,  the  new  Accountant, 
sleep  at  the  Club  in  consequence.  Carron's  ar- 
rival took  some  of  the  heavy  work  off  his 
shoulders,  and  he  had  time  to  attend  to  Riley's 
exactions — to  explain,  soothe,  invent,  and  settle 
and  resettle  the  poor  wretch  in  bed,  and  to  forge 
complimentary  letters  from  Calcutta.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  month  Riley  wished  to  send  some 
money  home  to  his  mother.  Reggie  sent  the 
draft.  At  the  end  of  the  second  month  Riley's 
salary  came  in  just  the  same.  Reggie  paid  it  out 
of  his  own  pocket,  and,  with  it,  wrote  Riley  a 
beautiful  letter  from  the  Directors. 

Riley  was  very  ill  indeed,  but  the  flame  of  his 
life  burned  unsteadily.  Now  and  then  he  would 
be  cheerful  and  confident  about  the  future, 
sketching  plans  for  going  Home  and  seeing  his 
mother.  Reggie  listened  patiently  when  the 
office-work  was  over,  and  encouraged  him. 

At  other  times  Riley  insisted  on  Reggie  read- 
ing the  Bible  and  grim  "  Methody  "  tracts  to  him. 
Out  of  these  tracts  he  pointed  morals  directed  at 
his  Manager.  But  he  always  found  time  to  worry 
Reggie  about  the  working  of  the  Bank,  and  to 
show  him  where  the  weak  points  lay. 

This  indoor,  sickroom  life  and  constant  strains 
wore  Reggie  down  a  good  deal,  and  shook  his 


264  A   Bank   Fraud 

nerves,  and  lowered  his  billiard  play  by  forty 
points.  But  the  business  of  the  Bank,  and  the 
business  of  the  sickroom,  had  to  go  on,  though 
the  glass  was  11 6°  in  the  shade. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  month  Riley  was  sink- 
ing fast,  and  had  begun  to  realize  that  he  was 
very  sick.  But  the  conceit  that  made  him  worry 
Reggie  kept  him  from  believing  the  worst.  "  He 
wants  some  sort  of  mental  stimulant  if  he  is  to 
drag  on,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Keep  him  inter- 
ested in  life  if  you  care  about  his  living."  So 
Riley,  contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  business  and  the 
finance,  received  a  2^-per-cent.  rise  of  salary  from 
the  Directors.  The  "mental  stimulant"  suc- 
ceeded beautifully.  Riley  was  happy  and  cheer- 
ful, and,  as  is  often  the  case  in  consumption, 
healthiest  in  mind  when  the  body  was  weakest. 
He  lingered  for  a  full  month,  snarling  and  fretting 
about  the  Bank,  talking  of  the  future,  hearing  the 
Bible  read,  lecturing  Reggie  on  sin,  and  wonder- 
ing when  he  would  be  able  to  move  abroad. 

But  at  the  end  of  September,  one  mercilessly 
hot  evening,  he  rose  up  in  his  bed  with  a  little  gasp, 
and  said  quickly  to  Reggie — "Mr.  Burke,  I  am 
going  to  die.  I  know  it  in  myself.  My  chest  is 
all  hollow  inside,  and  there's  nothing  to  breathe 
with.  To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  I  have  done 
nowt," — he  was  returning  to  the  talk  of  his  boy- 
hood—"to  lie  heavy  on  my  conscience.     God  be 


A  Bank  Fraud  265 

thanked,  I  have  been  preserved  from  the  grosser 
forms   of  sin;    and    I   counsel  you,   Mr.   Burke 

ft 

»         •         • 

Here  his  voice  died  down,  and  Reggie  stooped 
over  him. 

"  Send  my  salary  for  September  to  my  Mother 
.  .  .  done  great  things  with  the  Bank  if  I  had 
been  spared  .  .  .  mistaken  policy  .  .  . 
no  fault  of  mine.     .     .     ." 

Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  died. 

Reggie  drew  the  sheet  over  Its  face,  and  went 
out  into  the  veranda,  with  his  last  "  mental  stim- 
ulant " — a  letter  of  condolence  and  sympathy  from 
the  Directors — unused  in  his  pocket. 

"If  I'd  been  only  ten  minutes  earlier,"  thought 
Reggie,  "I  might  have  heartened  him  up  to  pull 
through  another  day." 


TODS'  AMENDMENT 


TODS'  AMENDMENT 

The  World  hath  set  its  heavy  yoke 
Upon  the  old  white-bearded  folk 

Who  strive  to  please  the  King. 
God's  mercy  is  upon  the  young, 
God's  wisdom  in  the  baby  tongue 

That  fears  not  anything. 

—  The  Parable  of  Chajju  Bhagat, 

NOW  Tods'  Mamma  was  a  singularly  charm- 
ing woman,  and  every  one  in  Simla  knew 
Tods.  Most  men  had  saved  him  from  death  on 
occasions.  He  was  beyond  his  ayah's  control 
altogether,  and  periled  his  life  daily  to  find  out 
what  would  happen  if  you  pulled  a  Mountain 
Battery  mule's  tail.  He  was  an  utterly  fearless 
young  Pagan,  about  six  years  old,  and  the  only 
baby  who  ever  broke  the  holy  calm  of  the  Su- 
preme Legislative  Council. 

It  happened  this  way:  Tods'  pet  kid  got  loose, 
and  fled  up  the  hill,  off  the  Boileaugunge  Road, 
Tods  after  it,  until  it  burst  into  the  Viceregal 
Lodge  lawn,  then  attached  to  "  Peterhoff."  The 
Council  were  sitting  at  the  time,  and  the  win- 
dows were  open  because  it  was  warm.  The 
Red  Lancer  in  the  porch  told  Tods  to  go  away; 

269 


270  ToJs'  Amendment 

but  Tods  knew  the  Red  Lancer  and  most  of  the 
Members  of  Council  personally.  Moreover,  he 
had  firm  hold  of  the  kid's  collar,  and  was  being 
dragged  all  across  the  flower-beds.  "  Give  my 
salaam  to  the  long  Councilor  Sahib,  and  ask  him 
to  help  me  take  Moti back!  "  gasped  Tods.  The 
Council  heard  the  noise  through  the  open  win- 
dows; and,  after  an  interval,  was  seen  the 
shocking  spectacle  of  a  Legal  Member  and  a 
Lieutenant-Governor  helping,  under  the  direct 
patronage  of  a  Commander-in-Chief  and  a  Vice- 
roy, one  small  and  very  dirty  boy  in  a  sailor's  suit 
and  a  tangle  of  brown  hair,  to  coerce  a  lively  and 
rebellious  kid.  They  headed  it  off  down  the  path 
to  the  Mall,  and  Tods  went  home  in  triumph  and 
told  his  Mamma  that  all  the  Councilor  Sahibs 
had  been  helping  him  to  catch  Moti.  Whereat 
his  Mamma  smacked  Tods  for  interfering  with 
the  administration  of  the  Empire;  but  Tods  met 
the  Legal  Member  the  next  day,  and  told  him  in 
confidence  that  if  the  Legal  Member  ever  wanted 
to  catch  a  goat,  he,  Tods,  would  give  him  all  the 
help  in  his  power.  "Thank  you,  Tods,"  said 
the  Legal  Member. 

Tods  was  the  idol  of  some  eighty  jhampanis, 
and  half  as  many  saises.  He  saluted  them  all  as 
"  O  Brother."  It  never  entered  his  head  that  any 
living  human  being  could  disobey  his  orders; 
and  he  was  the  buffer  between  the  servants  and 


Tods'  Amendment 


271 


his  Mamma's  wrath.  The  working  of  that 
household  turned  on  Tods,  who  was  adored  by 
every  one  from  the  dhoby  to  the  dog-boy.  Even 
Futteh  Khan,  the  villainous  loafer  khit  from  Mus- 
soorie,  shirked  risking  Tods'  displeasure  for  fear 
his  co-mates  should  look  down  on  him. 

So  Tods  had  honor  in  the  land  from  Boileau- 
gunge  to  Chota  Simla,  and  ruled  justly  according 
to  his  lights.  Of  course,  he  spoke  Urdu,  but  he 
had  also  mastered  many  queer  side-speeches  like 
the  chotee  bolee  of  the  women,  and  held  grave 
converse  with  shopkeepers  and  Hill-coolies  alike. 
He  was  precocious  for  his  age,  and  his  mixing 
with  natives  had  taught  him  some  of  the  more 
bitter  truths  of  life:  the  meanness  and  the  sordid- 
ness  of  it.  He  used,  over  his  bread  and  milk,  to 
deliver  solemn  and  serious  aphorisms,  translated 
from  the  vernacular  into  the  English,  that  made 
his  Mamma  jump  and  vow  that  Tods  must  go 
Home  next  hot  weather. 

Just  when  Tods  was  in  the  bloom  of  his  power, 
the  Supreme  Legislature  were  hacking  out  a  Bill 
for  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts,  a  revision  of  the 
then  Act,  smaller  than  the  Punjab  Land  Bill  but 
affecting  a  few  hundred  thousand  people  none 
the  less.  The  Legal  Member  had  built  and  bol- 
stered, and  embroidered,  and  amended  that  Bill, 
till  it  looked  beautiful  on  paper.  Then  the 
Council  began   to  settle   what  they   called  the 


272  Tods'   Amendment 

"minor  details."  As  if  any  Englishman  legis- 
lating for  natives  knows  enough  to  know  which 
are  the  minor  and  which  are  the  major  points, 
from  the  native  point  of  view,  of  any  measure! 
That  Bill  was  a  triumph  of  "safeguarding  the 
interests  of  the  tenant."  One  clause  provided 
that  land  should  not  be  leased  on  longer  terms 
than  five  years  at  a  stretch;  because,  if  the  land- 
lord had  a  tenant  bound  down  for,  say,  twenty 
years,  he  would  squeeze  the  very  life  out  of  him. 
The  notion  was  to  keep  up  a  stream  of  independ- 
ent cultivators  in  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts;  and 
ethnologically  and  politically  the  notion  was  cor- 
rect. The  only  drawback  was  that  it  was  alto- 
gether wrong.  A  native's  life  in  India  implies 
the  life  of  his  son.  Wherefore,  you  cannot  legis- 
late for  one  generation  at  a  time.  You  must  con- 
sider the  next  from  the  native  point  of  view. 
Curiously  enough,  the  native  now  and  then,  and 
in  Northern  India  more  particularly,  hates  being 
over-protected  against  himself.  There  was  a 
Naga  village  once,  where  they  lived  on  dead  and 
buried  Commissariat  mules.  .  .  .  But  that  is 
another  story. 

For  many  reasons,  to  be  explained  later,  the 
people  concerned  objected  to  the  Bill.  The  Na- 
tive member  in  Council  knew  as  much  about 
Punjabis  as  he  knew  about  Charing  Cross.  He 
had  said  in  Calcutta  that  "the  Bill  was  entirely  in 


Tods'  Amendment  273 

accord  with  the  desires  of  that  large  and  impor- 
tant class,  the  cultivators  ;  "  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 
The  Legal  Member's  knowledge  of  natives  was 
limited  to  English-speaking  Durbaris,  and  his  own 
red  chaprassis,  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts  con- 
cerned no  one  in  particular,  the  Deputy  Commis- 
sioners were  a  good  deal  too  driven  to  make  rep- 
resentations, and  the  measure  was  one  which 
dealt  with  small  landholders  only.  Nevertheless, 
the  Legal  Member  prayed  that  it  might  be  correct, 
for  he  was  a  nervously  conscientious  man.  He 
did  not  know  that  no  man  can  tell  what  natives 
think  unless  he  mixes  with  them  with  the  varnish 
off.  And  not  always  then.  But  he  did  the  best 
he  knew.  And  the  measure  came  up  to  the 
Supreme  Council  for  the  final  touches,  while  Tods 
patroled  the  Burra  Simla  Bazar  in  his  morning 
rides,  and  played  with  the  monkey  belonging  to 
Ditta  Mull,  the  bunnia,  and  listened,  as  a  child 
listens,  to  all  the  stray  talk  about  this  new  freak 
of  the  Lord  Sahib's. 

One  day  there  was  a  dinner-party,  at  the  house 
of  Tods'  Mamma,  and  the  Legal  Member  came. 
Tods  was  in  bed,  but  he  kept  awake  till  he  heard 
the  bursts  of  laughter  from  the  men  over  the  cof- 
fee. Then  he  paddled  out  in  his  little  red  flannel 
dressing-gown  and  his  night-suit  and  took  refuge 
by  the  side  of  his  father,  knowing  that  he  would 
not  be  sent  back.     "See  the  miseries  of  having  a 


274 


Tods'   Amendment 


family!"  said  Tods'  father,  giving  Tods  three 
prunes,  some  water  in  a  glass  that  had  been  used 
for  claret,  and  telling  him  to  sit  still.  Tods 
sucked  the  prunes  slowly,  knowing  that  he  would 
have  to  go  when  they  were  finished,  and  sipped 
the  pink  water  like  a  man  of  the  world,  as  he  lis- 
tened to  the  conversation.  Presently,  the  Legal 
Member,  talking  "shop"  to  the  Head  of  a  De- 
partment, mentioned  his  Bill  by  its  full  name— 
"The  Sub-Montane  Tracts  Ryotwary  Revised  En- 
actment." Tods  caught  the  one  native  word 
and  lifting  up  his  small  voice  said  — 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  that!  Has  it  been  mur- 
ramnlted  yet,  Councilor  Sahibi" 

"  How  much  ?"  said  the  Legal  Member. 

"  MurramiiUed  —  mended.  —  Put  theek,  you 
know — made  nice  to  please  Ditta  Mull! " 

The  Legal  Member  left  his  place  and  moved  up 
next  to  Tods. 

"What  do  you  know  about  ryotwari,  little 
man  ?"  he  said. 

"  I'm  not  a  little  man,  I'm  Tods,  and  I  know  all 
about  it.  Ditta  Mull,  and  Choga  Lall,  and  Amir 
Nath,  and— oh,  lakhs  of  my  friends  tell  me  about 
it  in  the  bazars  when  1  talk  to  them." 

"  Oh,  they  do— do  they  ?  What  do  they  say, 
Tods?" 

Tods  tucked  his  feet  under  his  red  flannel 
dressing-gown  and  said — "I  must  fink." 


Tods'  Amendment  275 

The  Legal  Member  waited  patiently.  Then 
Tods  with  infinite  compassion  — 

"You  don't  speak  my  talk,  do  you,  Councilor 
Sahib  ?  " 

"No;  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not,"  said  the 
Legal  Member. 

"Very  well,'- said  Tods,  "I  must  Jink  in  Eng- 
lish." 

He  spent  a  minute  putting  his  ideas  in  order, 
and  began  very  slowly,  translating  in  his  mind 
from  the  vernacular  to  English,  as  many  Anglo- 
Indian  children  do.  You  must  remember  that 
the  Legal  Member  helped  him  on  by  questions 
when  he  halted,  for  Tods  was  not  equal  to  the 
sustained  flight  of  oratory  that  follows. 

"Ditta  Mull  says,  'This  thing  is  the  talk  of  a 
child,  and  was  made  up  by  fools.'  But  /don't 
think  you  are  a  fool,  Councilor  Sahib,"  said  Tods, 
hastily.  "You  caught  my  goat.  This  is  what 
Ditta  Mull  says — '  I  am  not  a  fool,  and  why  should 
the  Sirkar  say  I  am  a  child  ?  I  can  see  if  the  land 
is  good  and  if  the  landlord  is  good.  If  I  am  a 
fool,  the  sin  is  upon  my  own  head.  For  five 
years  I  take  my  ground  for  which  I  have  saved 
money,  and  a  wife  I  take  too,  and  a  little  son  is 
born.'  Ditta  Mull  has  one  daughter  now,  but  he 
says  he  will  have  a  son,  soon.  And  he  says,  'At 
the  end  of  five  years,  by  this  new  bundobust,  I 
must  go.     If  I  do  not  go,  I  must  get  fresh  seals 


2-]6  Tods'  Amendment 

and  tak/ui  s-sUimps  on  the  papers,  perhaps  in  the 
middle  of  the  harvest,  and  to  go  to  the  law-courts 
once  is  wisdom,  but  to  go  twice  is  Jehannum.' 
That  is  quite  true,"  explained  Tods,  gravely. 
"All  my  friends  say  so.  And  Ditta  Mull  says, 
1  Always  fresh  takhus  and  paying  money  to  vakils 
and  chaprassis  and  law-courts  every  five  years, 
or  else  the  landlord  makes  me  go.  Why  do  I 
want  to  go?  Am  1  a  fool?  If  1  am  a  fool  and 
do  not  know,  after  forty  years,  good  land  when 
I  see  it,  let  me  die!  But  if  the  new  bundobust 
says  for  fifteen  years,  that  it  is  good  and  wise. 
My  little  son  is  a  man,  and  I  am  burned,  and  he 
takes  the  ground  or  another  ground,  paying  only 
once  for  the  /<?£/,' //5-stamps  on  the  papers,  and 
his  little  son  is  born,  and  at  the  end  of  fifteen 
years  is  a  man  too.  But  what  profit  is  there  in 
five  years  and  fresh  papers  ?  Nothing  but  dikh, 
trouble,  dikh.  We  are  not  young  men  who 
take  these  lands,  but  old  ones— not  farmers,  but 
tradesmen  with  a  little  money— and  for  fifteen 
years  we  shall  have  peace.  Nor  are  we  children 
that  the  Sirkar  should  treat  us  so,'  " 

Here  Tods  stopped  short,  for  the  whole  tabic 
were  listening.  The  Legal  Member  said  to  Tods, 
"Is  that  all?" 

"All  1  can  remember,"  said  Tods.  "But  you 
should  sec  Ditta  Mull's  big  monkey.  It's  just  like 
a  Councilor  Sahib." 


Tods'  Amendment 


277 


"Tods!     Go  to  bed,"  said  his  father. 

Tods  gathered  up  his  dressing-gown  tail  and 
departed. 

The  Legal  Member  brought  his  hand  down  on 
the  table  with  a  crash — "  By  Jove!  "  said  the  Legal 
Member,  "I  believe  the  boy  is  right.  The  short 
tenure  is  the  weak  point." 

He  left  early,  thinking  over  what  Tods  had 
said.  Now,  it  was  obviously  impossible  for  the 
Legal  Member  to  play  with  a  bunnia's  monkey, 
by  way  of  getting  understanding;  but  he  did  bet- 
ter. He  made  inquiries,  always  bearing  in  mind 
the  fact  that  the  real  native — not  the  hybrid,  Uni- 
versity-trained mule — is  as  timid  as  a  colt,  and, 
little  by  little,  he  coaxed  some  of  the  men  whom 
the  measure  concerned  most  intimately  to  give  in 
their  views,  which  squared  very  closely  with 
Tods'  evidence. 

So  the  Bill  was  amended  in  that  clause;  and 
the  Legal  Member  was  filled  with  an  uneasy  sus- 
picion that  Native  Members  represent  very  little 
except  the  Orders  they  carry  on  their  bosoms. 
But  he  put  the  thought  from  him  as  illiberal.  He 
was  a  most  Liberal  man. 

After  a  time,  the  news  spread  through  the 
bazars  that  Tods  had  got  the  Bill  recast  in  the 
tenure-clause,  and  if  Tods'  Mamma  had  not  inter- 
fered, Tods  would  have  made  himself  sick  on 
the  baskets  of  fruit  and  pistachio  nuts  and  Cabuli 


278  Tods?   Amendment 

grapes  and  almonds  that  crowded  the  veranda. 
Till  he  went  Home,  Tods  ranked  some  few  de- 
grees before  the  Viceroy  in  popular  estimation. 
Bat  for  the  little  life  of  him  Tods  could  not  un- 
derstand why. 

In  the  Legal  Member's  private-paper-box  still 
lies  the  rough  draft  of  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts 
Ryotwary  Revised  Enactment;  and,  opposite  the 
twenty-second  clause,  penciled  in  blue  chalk, 
and  signed  by  the  Legal  Member,  are  the  words 
"  Tods' Amendment." 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

"  Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own! 

Look  at  him  cutting  it — cur  to  the  bone  !  " 
"  Ask,  ere  the  youngster  be  rated  and  chidden, 

What  did  he  carry  and  how  was  he  ridden  ? 

Maybe  they  used  him  too  much  at  the  start ; 

Maybe  Fate's  weight-cloths  are  breaking  his  heart." 

— Life's  Handicap. 

WHEN  I  was  telling  you  of  the  joke  that 
The  Worm  played  off  on  the  Senior 
Subaltern,  I  promised  a  somewhat  similar  tale, 
but  with  all  the  jest  left  out.     This  is  that  tale. 

Dicky  Hatt  was  kidnapped  in  his  early,  early 
youth — neither  by  landlady's  daughter,  house- 
maid, barmaid,  nor  cook,  but  by  a  girl  so  nearly 
of  his  own  caste  that  only  a  woman  could  have 
said  she  was  just  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world 
below  it.  This  happened  a  month  before  he 
came  out  to  India,  and  five  days  after  his  one- 
and-twentieth  birthday.  The  girl  was  nineteen 
— six  years  older  than  Dicky  in  the  things  of  this 
world,  that  is  to  say — and,  for  the  time,  twice  as 
foolish  as  he. 

Excepting,  always,  falling  off  a  horse  there  is 
nothing  more  fatally  easy  than  marriage  before 
the  Registrar.     The  ceremony  costs  less  than  fifty 

281 


282  In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 

shillings,  and  is  remarkably  like  walking  into  a 
pawn-shop.  After  the  declarations  of  residence 
have  been  put  in,  four  minutes  will  cover  the  rest 
of  the  proceedings — fees,  attestation,  and  all. 
Then  the  Registrar  slides  the  blotting-pad  over 
the  nanus,  and  says  grimly  with  his  pen  between 
his  teeth,  "Now  you're  man  and  wile  ";  and  the 
couple  walk  out  into  the  street  feeling  as  if  some- 
thing were  horribly  illegal  somewhere. 

But  that  ceremony  holds  and  can  drag  a  man 
to  his  undoing  just  as  thoroughly  as  the  "  long  as 
ye  both  shall  live"  curse  from  the  altar-rails,  with 
the  bridesmaids  giggling  behind,  and  "The 
Voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden"  lifting  the  roof 
off.  In  this  manner  was  Dicky  Hatt  kidnapped, 
and  he  considered  it  vastly  fine,  for  he  had  re- 
ceived an  appointment  in  India  which  carried  a 
magnificent  salary  from  the  Home  point  of  view. 
The  marriage  was  to  be  kept  secret  for  a  year. 
Then  Mrs.  Dicky  Hatt  was  to  come  out,  and  the 
rest  of  life  was  to  be  a  glorious  golden  mist. 
That  was  how  they  sketched  it  under  the  Addi- 
son Road  Station  lamps;  and,  after  one  short 
month,  came  Gravesend  and  Dicky  steaming  out 
to  his  new  life,  and  the  girl  crying  in  a  thirty- 
shillings  a  week  bed-and-living-room,  in  a  back 
street  off  Montpelier  Square  near  the  Knights- 
bridge  Barracks. 

But  the  country  that  Dicky  came  to  was  a  hard 


In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth  283 

land  where  men  of  twenty-one  were  reckoned 
very  small  boys  indeed,  and  life  was  expensive. 
The  salary  that  loomed  so  large  six  thousand 
miles  away  did  not  go  far.  Particularly  when 
Dicky  divided  it  by  two,  and  remitted  more  than 
the  fair  half,  at  \-6"/%,  to  Montpelier  Square. 
One  hundred  and  thirty-five  rupees  out  of  three 
hundred  and  thirty  is  not  much  to  live  on;  but  it 
was  absurd  to  suppose  that  Mrs.  Hatt  could  exist 
forever  on  the  £20  held  back  by  Dicky  from  his 
outfit  allowance.  Dicky  saw  this  and  remitted 
at  once;  always  remembering  that  Rs. 700  were 
to  be  paid,  twelve  months  later,  for  a  first-class 
passage  out  for  a  lady.  When  you  add  to  these 
trifling  details  the  natural  instincts  of  a  boy  be- 
ginning a  new  life  in  a  new  country  and  longing 
to  go  about  and  enjoy  himself,  and  the  necessity 
for  grappling  with  strange  work — which,  prop- 
erly speaking,  should  take  up  a  boy's  undivided 
attention — you  will  see  that  Dicky  started  handi- 
capped. He  saw  it  himself  for  a  breath  or  two; 
but  he  did  not  guess  the  full  beauty  of  his  future. 
As  the  hot  weather  began,  the  shackles  settled 
on  him  and  ate  into  his  flesh.  First  would  come 
letters — big,  crossed,  seven-sheet  letters — from 
his  wife,  telling  him  how  she  longed  to  see  him, 
and  what  a  Heaven  upon  earth  would  be  their 
property  when  they  met.  Then  some  boy  of 
the   chummerv    wherein    Dicky   lodged   would 


284  hi  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 

pound  on  the  door  of  his  bare  little  room,  and  tell 
him  to  come  out  to  look  at  a  pony — the  very 
thing  to  suit  him.  Dicky  could  not  afford  ponies. 
He  had  to  explain  this.  Dicky  could  not  afford 
living  in  the  chummery,  modest  as  it  was.  He 
had  to  explain  this  before  he  moved  to  a  single 
room  next  the  office  where  he  worked  all  day. 
He  kept  the  house  on  a  green  oilcloth  table- 
cover,  one  chair,  one  bedstead,  one  photograph, 
one  tooth-glass  very  strong  and  thick,  a  seven- 
rupee  eight-anna  filter,  and  messing  by  contract 
at  thirty-seven  rupees  a  month.  Which  last  item 
was  extortion.  He  had  no  punkah,  for  a  punkah 
costs  fifteen  rupees  a  month;  but  he  slept  on  the 
roof  of  the  office  with  all  his  wife's  letters  under 
his  pillow.  Now  and  again  he  was  asked  out  to 
dinner,  where  he  got  both  a  punkah  and  an  iced 
drink.  But  this  was  seldom,  for  people  objected 
to  recognizing  a  boy  who  had  evidently  the  in- 
stincts of  a  Scotch  tallow-chandler,  and  who  lived 
in  such  a  nasty  fashion.  Dicky  could  not  sub- 
scribe to  any  amusement,  so  he  found  no  amuse- 
ment except  the  pleasure  of  turning  over  his 
Bank-book  and  reading  what  it  said  about  "  loans 
on  approved  security."  That  cost  nothing.  He 
remitted  through  a  Bombay  Bank,  by  the  way. 
and  the  Station  knew  nothing  of  his  private 
affairs. 

Every  month  he  sent  Home  all  he  could  pos- 


In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth  285 

sibly  spare  for  his  wife  and  for  another  reason 
which  was  expected  to  explain  itself  shortly,  and 
would  require  more  money. 

About  this  time  Dicky  was  overtaken  with  the 
nervous,  haunting  fear  that  besets  married  men 
when  they  are  out  of  sorts.  He  had  no  pension 
to  look  to.  What  if  he  should  die  suddenly,  and 
leave  his  wife  unprovided  for?  The  thought 
used  to  lay  hold  of  him  in  the  still,  hot  nights  on 
the  roof,  till  the  shaking  of  his  heart  made  him 
think  that  he  was  going  to  die  then  and  there  of 
heart-disease.  Now  this  is  a  frame  of  mind  which 
no  boy  has  a  right  to  know.  It  is  a  strong  man's 
trouble;  but  coming,  when  it  did,  it  nearly  drove 
poor  punkah-less,  perspiring  Dicky  Hatt  mad. 
He  could  tell  no  one  about  it. 

A  certain  amount  of  "screw"  is  as  necessary 
for  a  man  as  for  a  billiard-ball.  It  makes  them 
both  do  wonderful  things.  Dicky  needed  money 
badly,  and  he  worked  for  it  like  a  horse.  But, 
naturally,  the  men  who  owned  him  knew  that  a 
boy  can  live  very  comfortable  on  a  certain  income 
— pay  in  India  is  a  matter  of  age  not  merit,  you 
see,  and,  if  their  particular  boy  wished  to  work 
like  two  boys,  Business  forbid  that  they  should 
stop  him.  But  Business  forbid  that  they  should 
give  him  an  increase  of  pay  at  his  present  ridic- 
ulously immature  age.  So  Dicky  won  certain 
rises  of  salary — ample  for  a  boy — not  enough  for 


286  In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 

a  wife  and  a  child — certainly  too  little  for  the 
seven-hundred-rupee  passage  that  he  and  Mr. 
Hatt  had  discussed  so  lightly  once  upon  a  time. 
And  with  this  he  was  forced  to  be  content. 

Somehow,  all  his  money  seemed  to  fade  away 
in  Home  drafts  and  the  crushing  Exchange,  and 
the  tone  of  the  Home  letters  changed  and  grew 
querulous.  "  Why  wouldn't  Dicky  have  his  wife 
and  the  baby  out?  Surely  he  had  a  salary — a 
fine  salary — and  it  was  too  bad  of  him  to  enjoy 
himself  in  India.  But  would  he— could  he— make 
the  next  draft  a  little  more  elastic  ?  "  Here  fol- 
lowed a  list  of  baby's  kit,  as  long  as  a  Parsee's 
bill.  Then  Dicky,  whose  heart  yearned  to  his 
wife  and  the  little  son  he  had  never  seen — which, 
again,  is  a  feeling  no  boy  is  entitled  to — enlarged 
the  draft  and  wrote  queer  half-boy,  half-man  let- 
ters, saying  that  life  was  not  so  enjoyable  after 
all  and  would  the  little  wife  wait  yet  a  little 
longer  ?  But  the  little  wife,  however  much  she 
approved  of  money,  objected  to  waiting,  and 
there  was  a  strange,  hard  sort  of  ring  in  her  let- 
ters that  Dicky  didn't  understand.  How  could 
he,  poor  boy  ? 

Later  on  still — just  as  Dicky  had  been  told — 
Apropos  of  another  youngster  who  had  "  made  .1 
fool  of  himself  "  as  the  saving  is — that  matrimony 
would  not  only  ruin  his  further  chances  of  ad- 
vancement, but  would  lose  him  his  present  ap- 


In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth  287 

pointment — came  the  news  that  the  baby,  his 
own  little,  little  son,  had  died  and,  behind  this, 
forty  lines  of  an  angry  woman's  scrawl,  saying 
the  death  might  have  been  averted  if  certain 
things,  all  costing  money,  had  been  done,  or  if 
the  mother  and  the  baby  had  been  with  Dicky. 
The  letter  struck  at  Dicky's  naked  heart;  but, 
not  being  officially  entitled  to  a  baby,  he  could 
show  no  sign  of  trouble. 

How  Dicky  won  through  the  next  four  months, 
and  what  hope  he  kept  alight  to  force  him  into 
his  work,  no  one  dare  say.  He  pounded  on,  the 
seven-hundred-rupee  passage  as  far  away  as  ever, 
and  his  style  of  living  unchanged,  except  when  he 
launched  into  a  new  filter.  There  was  the  strain 
of  his  office-work,  and  the  strain  of  his  remit- 
tances, and  the  knowledge  of  his  boy's  death, 
which  touched  the  boy  more,  perhaps,  than  it 
would  have  touched  a  man;  and,  beyond  all,  the 
enduring  strain  of  his  daily  life.  Grey-headed 
seniors  who  approved  of  his  thrift  and  his  fashion 
of  denying  himself  everything  pleasant,  reminded 
him  of  the  old  saw  that  says  — 

"  If  a  youth  would  be  distinguished  in  his  art,  art,  art, 
He  must  keep  the  girls  away  from  his  heart,  heart,  heart." 

And  Dicky,  who  fancied  he  had  been  through 
every  trouble  that  a  man  is  permitted  to  know, 
had  to  laugh  and  agree;  with  the  last  line  of  his 


288  In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 

balanced  Bank-book  jingling  in  his  head  day  and 
night. 

But  he  had  one  more  sorrow  to  digest  before 
the  end.  There  arrived  a  letter  from  the  link- 
wife — the  natural  sequence  of  the  others  if  Dicky 
had  only  known  it — and  the  burden  of  that  letter 
was  "gone  with  a  handsomer  man  than  you." 
It  was  a  rather  curious  production,  without  stops, 
something  like  this — "  She  was  not  going  to  wait 
forever  and  the  baby  was  dead  and  Dicky  was 
only  a  boy  and  he  would  never  set  eyes  on 
her  again  and  why  hadn't  he  waved  his  hand- 
kerchief to  her  when  he  left  Gravesend  and  God 
was  her  judge  she  was  a  wicked  woman  but 
Dicky  was  worse  enjoying  himself  in  India  and 
this  other  man  loved  the  ground  she  trod  on  and 
would  Dicky  ever  forgive  her  for  she  would 
never  forgive  Dicky;  and  there  was  no  address 
to  write  to." 

Instead  of  thanking  his  stars  that  he  was  free, 
Dicky  discovered  exactly  how  an  injured  husband 
feels — again,  not  at  all  the  knowledge  to  which 
a  boy  is  entitled — for  his  mind  went  back  to  his 
wife  as  he  remembered  her  in  the  thirty-shilling 
"  suite  "  in  Montpelier  Square,  when  the  dawn 
of  his  last  morning  in  England  was  breaking, 
and  she  was  crying  in  the  bed.  Whereat  he 
rolled  about  on  his  bed  and  bit  his  fingers.  He 
never  stopped  to  think  whether,  if  he  had  met 


In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth  289 

Mrs.  Hatt  after  those  two  years,  he  would  have 
discovered  that  he  and  she  had  grown  quite  dif- 
ferent and  new  persons.  This,  theoretically,  he 
ought  to  have  done.  He  spent  the  night  after 
the  English  Mail  came  in  rather  severe  pain. 

Next  morning,  Dicky  Hatt  felt  disinclined  to 
work.  He  argued  that  he  had  missed  the  pleas- 
ure of  youth.  He  was  tired,  and  he  had  tasted 
all  the  sorrow  in  life  before  three-and-twenty. 
His  Honor  was  gone — that  was  the  man;  and 
now  he,  too,  would  go  to  the  Devil — that  was 
the  boy  in  him.  So  he  put  his  head  down  on 
the  green  oilcloth  table-cover,  and  wept  before 
resigning  his  post,  and  all  it  offered. 

But  the  reward  of  his  services  came.  He  was 
given  three  days  to  reconsider  himself,  and  the 
Head  of  the  establishment,  after  some  telegraph- 
ings,  said  that  it  was  a  most  unusual  step,  but,  in 
view  of  the  ability  that  Mr.  Hatt  had  displayed 
at  such  and  such  a  time,  at  such  and  such  junc- 
tures, he  was  in  a  position  to  offer  him  an  in- 
finitely superior  post — first  on  probation  and 
later,  in  the  natural  course  of  things,  on  con- 
firmation. "And  how  much  does  the  post 
carry?"  said  Dicky.  "Six  hundred  and  fifty 
rupees,"  said  the  Head,  slowly,  expecting  to  see 
the  young  man  sink  with  gratitude  and  joy. 

And  it  came  then !  The  seven-hundred-rupee- 
passage,  and  enough  to  have  saved  the  wife,  and 


290  ///  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 

the  little  son,  and  to  have  allowed  of  assured  and 
.pen  marriage,  came  then.  Dicky  burst  into  a 
roar  of  laughter — laughter  he  could  not  check — 
nasty,  jangling  merriment  that  seemed  as  if  it 
would  go  on  forever.  When  he  had  recovered 
himself  he  said,  quite  seriously,  "I'm  tired  of 
work.  I'm  an  old  man  now.  It's  about  time  1 
retired.     And  1  will." 

"The  boy's  mad!  "  said  the  Head. 

I  think  he  was  right;  but  Dicky  Hatt  never  re- 
appeared to  settle  the  question. 


PSG 


PIG 

Go,  stalk  the  red  deer  o'er  the  heather, 

Ride,  follow  the  fox  if  you  can  ! 
But,  for  pleasure  and  profit  together, 

Allow  me  the  hunting  of  Man, — 
The  chase  of  the  Human,  the  search  for  the  Soul 

To  its  ruin, — the  hunting  of  Man. 

—  The  Old  Shikarri. 

I  BELIEVE  the  difference  began  in  the  matter 
of  a  horse,  with  a  twist  in  his  temper,  whom 
Pinecoffin  sold  to  Nafferton  and  by  whom  Naf- 
erton  was  nearly  slain.  There  may  have  been 
other  causes  of  offence;  the  horse  was  the  offi- 
cial stalking-horse.  Nafferton  was  very  angry, 
but  Pinecoffin  laughed,  and  said  that  he  had 
never  guaranteed  the  beast's  manners.  Naffer- 
ton laughed  too,  though  he  vowed  that  he  would 
write  off  his  fall  against  Pinecoffin  if  he  waited 
five  years.  Now,  a  Dalesman  from  beyond  Skip- 
ton  will  forgive  an  injury  when  the  Strid  lets  a 
man  live;  but  a  South  Devon  man  is  as  soft  as  a 
Dartmoor  bog.  You  can  see  from  their  names 
that  Nafferton  had  the  race-advantage  of  Pine- 
coffin. He  was  a  peculiar  man,  and  his  notions 
of  humor  were  cruel.  He  taught  me  a  new  and 
fascinating  form  of  shikar.     He  hounded  Pine- 

293 


294  Pig 

coffin  from  Mithankot  to  Jagadti,  and  from 
Gurgaon  to  Abbottabad — up  and  across  the 
Punjab,  a  large  Province,  and  in  places  remark- 
ably dry.  He  said  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
allowing  Assistant  Commissioners  to  "sell  him 
pups,'"  in  the  shape  of  ramping,  screaming  coun- 
trybreds,  without  making  their  lives  a  burden  to 
them. 

Most  Assistant  Commissioners  develop  a  bent 
for  some  special  work  after  their  first  hot  weather 
in  the  country.  The  boys  with  digestions  hope 
to  write  their  names  large  on  the  Frontier,  and 
struggle  for  dreary  places  like  Bannu  and  Kohat. 
The  bilious  ones  climb  into  the  Secretariat 
Which  is  very  bad  for  the  liver.  Others  are 
bitten  with  a  mania  for  District  work,  Ghuz- 
nivide  coins  or  Persian  poetry;  while  some,  who 
come  of  farmers'  stock,  find  that  the  smell  of  the 
Earth  after  the  Rains  gets  into  their  blood,  and 
calls  them  to  "  develop  the  resources  of  the  Prov- 
ince." These  men  are  enthusiasts.  Pinecoffin 
belonged  to  their  class.  He  knew  a  great  many 
facts  bearing  on  the  cost  of  bullocks  and  tempor- 
ary wells,  and  opium-scrapers,  and  what  happens 
if  you  burn  too  much  rubbish  on  a  field  in  the 
hope  of  enriching  used-up  soil.  All  the  Pinecoflins 
come  of  a  landholding  breed,  and  so  the  land 
only  took  back  her  own  again.  Unfortunately 
— most   unfortunately  for   Pinecoffin— he  was  a 


Pig  295 

Civilian,  as  well  as  a  farmer.  Nafferton  watched 
him,  and  thought  about  the  horse.  Nafferton 
said,  "See  me  chase  that  boy  till  he  drops!" 
I  said,  "  You  can't  get  your  knife  into  an  Assist- 
ant Commissioner."  Nafferton  told  me  that  1  did 
not  understand  the  administration  of  the  Prov- 
ince. 

Our  Government  is  rather  peculiar.  It  gushes 
on  the  agricultural  and  general  information  side, 
and  will  supply  a  moderately  respectable  man 
with  all  sorts  of  "economic  statistics,"  if  he 
speaks  to  it  prettily.  For  instance,  you  are  in- 
terested in  gold-washing  in  the  sands  of  the  Sut- 
lej.  You  pull  the  string,  and  find  that  it  wakes 
up  half  a  dozen  Departments,  and  finally  com- 
municates, say,  with  a  friend  of  yours  in  the 
Telegraph,  who  once  wrote  some  notes  on  the 
customs  of  the  gold-washers  when  he  was  on 
construction-work  in  their  part  of  the  Empire. 
He  may  or  may  not  be  pleased  at  being  ordered 
to  write  out  everything  he  knows  for  your  bene- 
fit. This  depends  on  his  temperament.  The 
bigger  man  you  are,  the  more  information  and 
the  greater  trouble  can  you  raise. 

Nafferton  was  not  a  big  man;  but  he  had  the 
reputation  of  being  very  "earnest."  An  "ear- 
nest" man  can  do  much  with  a  Government. 
There  was  an  earnest  man  once  who  nearly 
wrecked    .     ,     .     but  all  India  knows  that  story. 


296  Pig 

I  am  not  sure  what  real  "earnestness"  is.  A 
very  fair  imitation  can  be  manufactured  by 
neglecting  to  dress  decently,  by  mooning  about 
in  a  dreamy,  misty  sort  of  way,  by  taking  office- 
work  home,  after  staying  in  office  till  seven,  and 
by  receiving  crowds  of  native  gentlemen  on  Sun- 
days.    That  is  one  sort  of  "earnestness." 

Nafferton  cast  about  for  a  peg  whereon  to  hang 
his  earnestness,  and  for  a  string  that  would  com- 
municate with  Pinecoffin.  He  found  both. 
They  were  Pig.  Nafferton  became  an  earnest 
inquirer  after  Pig.  He  informed  the  Govern- 
ment that  he  had  a  scheme  whereby  a  large  per- 
centage of  the  British  Army  in  India  could  be 
fed,  at  a  very  large  saving,  on  Pig.  Then  he 
hinted  that  Pinecoffin  might  supply  him  with  the 
"varied  information  necessary  to  the  proper  in- 
ception of  the  scheme."  So  the  Government 
wrote  on  the  back  of  the  letter,  "instruct  Mr. 
Pinecoffin  to  furnish  Mr.  Nafferton  with  any  in- 
formation in  his  power."  Government  is  very 
prone  to  writing  things  on  the  backs  of  letters 
which,  later,  lead  to  trouble  and  confusion. 

Nafferton  had  not  the  faintest  interest  in  Pig, 
but  he  knew  that  Pinecoffin  would  flounce  into 
the  trap.  Pinecoffin  was  delighted  at  being  con- 
sulted about  Pig.  The  Indian  Pig  is  not  exactly 
an  important  factor  in  agricultural  life;  but  Naf- 
ferton explained  to  Pinecoffin  that  there  was  room 


Pig  297 

for  improvement,  and  corresponded  direct  with 
that  young  man. 

You  may  think  that  there  is  not  much  to  be 
evolved  from  Pig.  It  all  depends  how  you  set  to 
work.  Pinecoffin  being  a  Civilian  and  wishing 
to  do  things  thoroughly,  began  with  an  essay  on 
the  Primitive  Pig,  the  Mythology  of  the  Pig,  and 
the  Dravidian  Pig.  Nafferton  filed  that  informa- 
tion— twenty-seven  foolscap  sheets — and  wanted 
to  know  about  the  distribution  of  the  Pig  in  the 
Punjab,  and  how  it  stood  the  Plains  in  the  hot 
weather.  From  this  point  onward,  remember 
that  I  am  giving  you  only  the  barest  outlines  of 
the  affair — the  guy-ropes,  as  it  were,  of  the  web 
that  Nafferton  spun  round  Pinecoffin. 

Pinecoffin  made  a  colored  Pig-population  map, 
and  collected  observations  on  the  comparative 
longevity  of  Pig  (a)  in  the  sub-montane  tracts  of 
the  Himalayas,  and  (b)  in  the  Rechna  Doab. 
Nafferton  filed  that,  and  asked  what  sort  of  people 
looked  after  Pig.  This  started  an  ethnological 
excursus  on  swineherds,  and  drew  from  Pinecoffin 
long  tables  showing  the  proportion  per  thousand 
of  the  caste  in  the  Derajat.  Nafferton  filed  that 
bundle,  and  explained  that  the  figures  which  he 
wanted  referred  to  the  Cis-Sutlej  states,  where 
he  understood  that  Pigs  were  very  fine  and  large, 
and  where  he  proposed  to  start  a  Piggery.  By 
this  time,  Government  had  quite  forgotten  their 


298  P[g 

instructions  to  Mr.  Pinecoffin.  They  were  like 
the  gentlemen,  in  Keats'  poem,  who  turned  well- 
oiled  wheels  to  skin  other  people.  But  Pine- 
coftin  was  just  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  Pig- 
hunt,  as  Nafferton  well  knew  he  would  do.  He 
had  a  fair  amount  of  work  of  his  own  to  Clear 
away;  but  he  sat  up  of  nights  reducing  Pig  to 
five  places  of  decimals  for  the  honor  of  his 
Service.  He  was  not  going  to  appear  ignorant 
of  so  easy  a  subject  as  Pig. 

Then  Government  sent  him  on  special  duty  to 
Kohat,  to  "inquire  into"  the  big,  seven-foot, 
iron-shod  spades  of  that  District.  People  had 
been  killing  each  other  with  those  peaceful  tools; 
and  Government  wished  to  know  "whether  a 
modified  form  of  agricultural  implement  could 
not,  tentatively  and  as  a  temporary  measure,  be 
introduced  among  the  agricultural  population 
without  needlessly  or  unduly  exacerbating  the 
existing  religious  sentiments  of  the  peasantry." 

Between  those  spades  and  NafTerton's  Pig, 
Pinecoffin  was  rather  heavily  burdened. 

Nafferton  now  began  to  take  up  "  (a)  The  food- 
supply  of  the  indigenous  Pig,  with  a  view  to 
the  improvement  of  its  capacities  as  a  flesh- 
former,  (b)  The  acclimatization  of  the  exotic 
Pig.  maintaining  its  distinctive  peculiarities." 
Pinecoffin  replied  exhaustively  that  the  exotic 
Pig  would   become    merged    in    the    indigenous 


Pig  299 

type;  and  quoted  horse-breeding  statistics  to 
prove  this.  The  side-issue  was  debated,  at  great 
length  on  Pinecoffm's  side,  till  Nafferton  owned 
that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  and  moved  the 
previous  question.  When  Pinecoffin  had  quite 
written  himself  out  about  flesh-formers,  and 
fibrins,  and  glucose  and  the  nitrogenous  constit- 
uents of  maize  and  lucerne,  Nafferton  raised  the 
question  of  expense.  By  this  time  Pinecoffin, 
who  had  been  transferred  from  Kohat,  had 
developed  a  Pig  theory  of  his  own,  which  he 
stated  in  thirty-three  folio  pages — all  carefully 
filed  by  Nafferton.     Who  asked  for  more. 

These  things  took  ten  months,  and  Pinecoffin's 
interest  in  the  potential  Piggery  seemed  to  die 
down  after  he  had  stated  his  own  views.  But 
Nafferton  bombarded  him  with  letters  on  "the 
Imperial  aspect  of  the  scheme,  as  tending  to 
officialize  the  sale  of  pork,  and  thereby  calculated 
to  give  offence  to  the  Mahommedan  population 
of  Upper  India."  He  guessed  that  Pinecoffin 
would  want  some  broad,  free-hand  work  after 
his  niggling,  stippling,  decimal  details.  Pine- 
coffin handled  the  latest  development  of  the  case 
in  masterly  style,  and  proved  that  no  "popular 
ebullition  of  excitement  was  to  be  apprehended." 
Nafferton  said  that  there  was  nothing  like  Civil- 
ian insight  in  matters  of  this  kind,  and  lured  him 
up  a  by-path — "the  possible  profits  to  accrue  to 


300  Pig 

the  Government  from  the  sale  of  hog-bristles." 
There  is  an  extensive  literature  of  hog-bristles, 
and  the  shoe,  brush,  and  color-man's  trades 
recognize  more  varieties  of  bristles  than  you 
would  think  possible.  After  Pinecoffin  had 
wondered  a  little  at  Nafferton's  rage  for  informa- 
tion, he  sent  back  a  monograph,  fifty-one  pages, 
on  "Products  of  the  Pig."  This  led  him,  under 
Nafferton's  tender  handling,  straight  to  the 
Cawnpore  factories,  the  trade  in  hog-skin  for 
saddles — and  thence  to  the  tanners.  Pinecoffin 
wrote  that  pomegranate-seed  was  the  best  cure 
for  hog-skin,  and  suggested — for  the  past  four- 
teen months  had  wearied  him — that  NafTerton 
should  "  raise  his  pigs  before  he  tanned  them." 

NafTerton  went  back  to  the  second  section  of 
his  fifth  question.  How  could  the  exotic  Pig  be 
brought  to  give  as  much  pork  as  it  did  in  the 
West  and  yet  "assume  the  essentially  hirsute 
characteristics  of  its  Oriental  congener "  ?  Pine- 
coffin felt  dazed,  for  he  had  forgotten  what  he  had 
written  sixteen  months  before,  and  fancied  that 
he  was  about  to  reopen  the  entire  question.  He 
was  too  far  involved  in  the  hideous  tangle  to  re- 
treat, and,  in  a  weak  moment,  lie  wrote,  "Con- 
sult my  first  letter."  Which  related  to  the 
Dravidian  Pig.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Pinecoffin 
had  still  to  reach  the  acclimatization  stage ;  having 
gone  off  on  a  side-issue  on  the  merging  of  types. 


Pig  yo\ 

Then  Nafferton  really  unmasked  his  batteries! 
He  complained  to  the  Government,  in  stately 
language,  of  "the  paucity  of  help  accorded  to  me 
in  my  earnest  attempts  to  start  a  potentially  re- 
munerative industry,  and  the  flippancy  with 
which  my  requests  for  information  are  treated  by 
a  gentleman  whose  pseudo-scholarly  attainments 
should  at  least  have  taught  him  the  primary  dif- 
ferences between  the  Dravidian  and  the  Berkshire 
variety  of  the  genus  Sus.  If  I  am  to  understand 
that  the  letter  to  which  he  refers  me,  contains  his 
serious  views  on  the  acclimatization  of  a  valuable, 
though  possibly  uncleanly,  animal,  I  am  reluc- 
tantly compelled  to  believe,  etc.,  etc. 

There  was  a  new  man  at  the  head  of  the  De- 
partment of  Castigation.  The  wretched  Pinecof- 
fin  was  told  that  the  Service  was  made  for  the 
Country,  and  not  the  Country  for  the  Service,  and 
that  he  had  better  begin  to  supply  information 
about  Pigs. 

Pinecoffm  answered  insanely  that  he  had  writ- 
ten everything  that  could  be  written  about  Pig, 
and  that  some  furlough  was  due  to  him. 

Nafferton  got  a  copy  of  that  letter,  and  sent  it, 
with  the  essay  on  the  Dravidian  Pig,  to  a  down- 
country  paper  which  printed  both  in  full.  The 
essay  was  rather  high-flown;  but  if  the  Editor 
had  seen  the  stacks  of  paper,  in  Pinecoffin's  hand- 
writing, on  Nafferton's  table,  he  would  not  have 


)02  Pig 

been  so  sarcastic  about  the  "  nebulous  discursive- 
ness and  blatant  self-sufficiency  of  the  modern 
Competition-:.-.///!///,  and  his  utter  inability  to 
grasp  the  practical  issues  of  a  practical  question." 
Many  friends  cut  out  these  remarks  and  sent  them 
to  Pinecoffin. 

1  have  already  stated  that  Pinecoffin  came  of  a 
soft  stock.  This  last  stroke  frightened  and  shook 
him.  He  could  not  understand  it;  but  he  felt 
that  he  had  been,  somehow,  shamelessly  betrayed 
by  Nafferton.  He  realized  that  he  had  wrapped 
himself  up  in  the  Pigskin  without  need,  and  that 
he  could  not  well  set  himself  right  with  his  Gov- 
ernment. All  his  acquaintances  asked  after  his 
"nebulous  discursiveness  "  or  his  "blatant  self- 
sufficiency,"  and  this  made  him  miserable. 

He  took  a  train  and  went  to  Nafferton,  whom 
he  had  not  seen  since  the  Pig  business  began. 
He  also  took  the  cutting  from  the  paper,  and 
blustered  feebly  and  called  Nafferton  names,  and 
then  died  down  to  a  watery,  weak  protest  of  the 
"  I-say-it's-too-bad-you-know  "  order. 

Nafferton  was  very  sympathetic. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  given  you  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  haven't  I?"  said  he. 

"Trouble!"  whimpered  Pinecoffin;  "I  don't 
mind  the  trouble  so  much,  though  that  was  bad 
enough;  but  what  I  resent  is  this  showing  up  in 
print.     It  will  stick  to  me  like  a  burr  all  through 


Pig  303 

my  service.  And  I  did  do  my  best  for  your  in- 
terminable swine.  It's  too  bad  of  you — on  my 
soul  it  is! " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Nafferton.  "Have  you 
ever  been  stuck  with  a  horse  ?  It  isn't  the  money 
I  mind,  though  that  is  bad  enough;  but  what  I 
resent  is  the  chaff  that  follows,  especially  from 
the  boy  who  stuck  me.  But  I  think  we'll  cry 
quits  now." 

Pinecoffin  found  nothing  to  say  save  bad  words ; 
and  Nafferton  smiled  ever  so  sweetly,  and  asked 
him  to  dinner. 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE 
HUSSARS 

It  was  not  in  the  open  fight 

We  threw  away  the  sword, 
But  in  the  lonely  watching 

In  the  darkness  by  the  ford. 

The  waters  lapped,  the  night-wind  blew, 

Full-armed  the  Fear  was  born  and  grew, 

And  we  were  flying  ere  we  knew 

From  panic  in  the  night. 

—  Beoni  Bar. 

SOME  people  hold  that  an  English  Cavalry 
regiment  cannot  run.  This  is  a  mistake.  1 
have  seen  four  hundred  and  thirty-seven  sabres 
flying  over  the  face  of  the  country  in  abject  ter- 
ror— have  seen  the  best  Regiment  that  ever  drew 
bridle  wiped  off  the  Army  List  for  the  space  of 
two  hours.  If  you  repeat  this  tale  to  the  White 
Hussars  they  will,  in  all  probability,  treat  you 
severely.     They  are  not  proud  of  the  incident. 

You  may  know  the  White  Hussars  by  their 
"side,"  which  is  greater  than  that  of  all  the  Cav- 
alry Regiments  on  the  roster.  If  this  is  not  a 
sufficient  mark,  you  may  know  them  by  their  old 
brandy.  It  has  been  sixty  years  in  the  Mess  and 
is  worth  going  far  to  taste.     Ask  for  the  "Mc- 

307 


308  The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

Gaire"old  brandy,  and  see  that  you  get  it.  If 
the  Mess  Sergeant  thinks  that  you  are  uneducated, 
and  that  the  genuine  article  will  be  lost  on  you, 
he  will  treat  you  accordingly.  He  is  a  good  man. 
But,  when  you  are  at  Mess,  you  must  never  talk 
to  your  hosts  about  forced  marches  or  long-dis- 
tance rides.  The  Mess  are  very  sensitive;  and,  if 
they  think  that  you  are  laughing  at  them,  will  tell 
you  so. 

As  the  White  Hussars  say,  it  was  all  the  Colo- 
nel's fault.  He  was  a  new  man,  and  he  ought 
never  to  have  taken  the  Command.  He  said  that 
the  Regiment  was  not  smart  enough.  This  to 
the  White  Hussars,  who  knew  that  they  could 
walk  round  any  Horse  and  through  any  Guns, 
and  over  any  Foot  on  the  face  of  the  earth !  That 
insult  was  the  first  cause  of  offence. 

Then  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse — the 
Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars!  Perhaps 
you  do  not  see  what  an  unspeakable  crime  he 
had  committed.  1  will  try  to  make  it  clear.  The 
soul  of  the  Regiment  lives  in  the  Drum-Horse 
who  carries  the  silver  kettle-drums.  He  is  nearly 
always  a  big  piebald  Waler.  That  is  a  point  of 
honor;  and  a  Regiment  will  spend  anything  you 
please  on  a  piebald.  He  is  beyond  the  ordinary 
laws  of  casting.  His  work  is  very  light,  and  he 
only  manoeuvres  at  a  footpace.  Wherefore,  so 
long  as  he  can  step  out  and  look  handsome,  his 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  309 

well-being  is  assured.  He  knows  more  about  the 
Regiment  than  the  Adjutant,  and  could  not  make 
a  mistake  if  he  tried. 

The  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  was 
only  eighteen  years  old,  and  perfectly  equal  to 
his  duties.  He  had  at  least  six  years'  more  work 
in  him,  and  carried  himself  with  all  the  pomp 
and  dignity  of  a  Drum-Major  of  the  Guards. 
The  Regiment  had  paid  Rs.  1200  for  him. 

But  the  Colonel  said  that  he  must  go,  and  he 
was  cast  in  due  form  and  replaced  by  a  washy, 
bay  beast,  as  ugly  as  a  mule,  with  a  ewe-neck, 
rat-tail,  and  cow-hocks.  The  Drummer  detested 
that  animal,  and  the  best  of  the  Band-horses  put 
back  their  ears  and  showed  the  whites  of  their 
eyes  at  the  very  sight  of  him.  They  knew  him 
for  an  upstart  and  no  gentleman.  I  fancy  that 
the  Colonel's  ideas  of  smartness  extended  to  the 
Band,  and  that  he  wanted  to  make  it  take  part  in 
the  regular  parade  movements.  A  Cavalry  Band 
is  a  sacred  thing.  It  only  turns  out  for  Com- 
manding Officers'  parades,  and  the  Band  Master 
is  one  degree  more  important  than  the  Colonel. 
He  is  a  High  Priest  and  the  "Keel  Row"  is  his 
holy  song.  The  "Keel  Row"  is  the  Cavalry 
Trot;  and  the  man  who  has  never  heard  that 
tune  rising,  high  and  shrill,  above  the  rattle  of 
the  Regiment  going  past  the  saluting-base,  has 
something  yet  to  hear  and  understand. 


310  The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

When  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse  of  the 
White  Hussars,  there  was  nearly  a  mutiny. 

The  officers  were  angry,  the  Regiment  were 
furious,  and  the  Bandsmen  swore — like  troopers. 
The  Drum-Horse  was  going  to  be  put  up  to 
auction — public  auction — to  be  bought,  perhaps, 
by  a  Parsee  and  put  into  a  cart!  It  was  worse 
than  exposing  the  inner  life  of  the  Regiment 
to  the  whole  world,  or  selling  the  Mess  Plate  to  a 
Jew — a  Black  Jew. 

The  Colonel  was  a  mean  man  and  a  bully.  He 
knew  what  the  Regiment  thought  about  his 
action;  and,  when  the  troopers  offered  to  buy 
the  Drum-Horse,  he  said  that  their  offer  was 
mutinous  and  forbidden  by  the  Regulations. 

But  one  of  the  Subalterns — Hogan-Yale,  an 
Irishman — bought  the  Drum-Horse  for  Rs.  160  at 
the  sale,  and  the  Colonel  was  wroth.  Yale  pro- 
fessed repentance — he  was  unnaturally  submis- 
sive— and  said  that,  as  he  had  only  made  the  pur- 
chase to  save  the  horse  from  possible  ill-treat- 
ment and  starvation,  he  would  now  shoot  him 
and  end  the  business.  This  appeared  to  soothe 
the  Colonel,  for  he  wanted  the  Drum-Horse  dis- 
posed of.  He  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake, 
and  could  not  of  course  acknowledge  it.  Mean- 
time, the  presence  of  the  Drum-Horse  was  an 
annoyance  to  him. 

Yale  took  to  himself  a  glass  of  the  old  brandy, 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  311 

three  cheroots,  and  his  friend  Martyn;  and  they 
all  left  the  Mess  together.  Yale  and  Martyn  con- 
ferred for  two  hours  in  Yale's  quarters;  but  only 
the  bull-terrier  who  keeps  watch  over  Yale's 
boot-trees  knows  what  they  said.  A  horse, 
hooded  and  sheeted  to  his  ears,  left  Yale's  stables 
and  v/as  taken,  very  unwillingly,  into  the  Civil 
Lines.  Yale's  groom  went  with  him.  Two 
men  broke  into  the  Regimental  Theatre  and  took 
several  paint-pots  and  some  large  scenery- 
brushes.  Then  night  fell  over  the  Cantonments, 
and  there  was  a  noise  as  of  a  horse  kicking  his 
loose-box  to  pieces  in  Yale's  stables.  Yale  had  a 
big,  old,  white  Waler  trap-horse. 

The  next  day  was  a  Thursday,  and  the  men, 
hearing  that  Yale  was  going  to  shoot  the  Drum- 
Horse  in  the  evening,  determined  to  give  the 
beast  a  regular  regimental  funeral — a  finer  one 
than  they  would  have  given  the  Colonel  had  he 
died  just  then.  They  got  a  bullock-cart  and  some 
sacking,  and  mounds  and  mounds  of  roses,  and 
the  body,  under  sacking,  was  carried  out  to  the 
place  where  the  anthrax  cases  were  cremated; 
two-thirds  of  the  Regiment  following.  There 
was  no  Band,  but  they  all  sang  "The  Place 
where  the  old  Horse  died  "  as  something  respect- 
ful and  appropriate  to  the  occasion.  When  the 
corpse  was  dumped  into  the  grave  and  the  men 
began  throwing  down  armfuls  of  roses  to  cover 


312  The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

it,  the  Farrier-Sergeant  ripped  out  an  oath  and 
said  aloud,  "Why,  it  ain't  the  Drum-Horse  any 
more  than  it's  me!  "  The  Troop  Sergeant-Majors 
asked  him  whether  he  had  left  his  head  in  the 
Canteen.  The  Farrier-Sergeant  said  that  he  knew 
the  Drum-Horse's  feet  as  well  as  he  knew  his 
own;  but  he  was  silenced  when  he  saw  the 
regimental  number  burned  in  on  the  poor  stiff,  up- 
turned near-fore. 

Thus  was  the  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hus- 
sars buried;  the  Farrier-Sergeant  grumbling. 
The  sacking  that  covered  the  corpse  was  smeared 
in  places  with  black  paint;  and  the  Farrier-Ser- 
geant drew  attention  to  this  fact.  But  the  Troop- 
Sergeant-Major  of  E  Troop  kicked  him  severely 
on  the  shin,  and  told  him  that  he  was  undoubt- 
edly drunk. 

On  the  Monday  following  the  burial,  the 
Colonel  sought  revenge  on  the  White  Hussars. 
Unfortunately,  being  at  that  time  temporarily  in 
Command  of  the  Station,  he  ordered  a  Brigade 
field-day.  He  said  that  he  wished  to  make  the 
Regiment  "sweat  for  their  damned  insolence," 
and  he  carried  out  his  notion  thoroughly.  That 
Monday  was  one  of  the  hardest  days  in  the  mem- 
ory of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were  thrown 
against  a  skeleton-enemy,  and  pushed  forward, 
and  withdrawn,  and  dismounted,  and  "scientific- 
ally   handled "    in    every    possible   fashion   over 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  }\  3 

dusty  country,  till  they  sweated  profusely.  Their 
only  amusement  came  late  in  the  day  when  they 
fell  upon  the  battery  of  Horse  Artillery  and 
chased  it  for  two  miles.  This  was  a  personal 
question,  and  most  of  the  troopers  had  money  on 
the  event;  the  Gunners  saying  openly  that  they 
had  the  legs  of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were 
wrong.  A  march-past  concluded  the  campaign, 
and  when  the  Regiment  got  back  to  their  Lines, 
the  men  were  coated  with  dirt  from  spur  to  chin- 
strap. 

The  White  Hussars  have  one  great  and  peculiar 
privilege.     They  won  it  at  Fontenoy,  I  think. 

Many  Regiments  possess  special  rights  such  as 
wearing  collars  with  undress  uniform,  or  a  bow 
of  riband  between  the  shoulders,  or  red  and 
white  roses  in  their  helmets  on  certain  days  of 
the  year.  Some  rights  are  connected  with  regi- 
mental saints,  and  some  with  regimental  suc- 
cesses. All  are  valued  highly;  but  none  so 
highly  as  the  right  of  the  White  Hussars  to  have 
the  Band  playing  when  their  horses  are  being 
watered  in  the  Lines.  Only  one  tune  is  played, 
and  that  tune  never  varies.  I  don't  know  its  real 
name,  but  the  White  Hussars  call  it,  "Take  me 
to  London  again."  It  sounds  very  pretty.  The 
Regiment  would  sooner  be  struck  off  the  roster 
than  forego  their  distinction. 

After  the  "dismiss"  was  sounded,  the  officers 


314  The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

rode  off  home  to  prepare  for  stables;  and  the 
men  tiled  into  the  lines  riding  easy.  That  is  to 
say,  they  opened  their  tight  buttons,  shitted  their 
helmets,  and  began  to  joke  or  to  swear  as  the 
humor  took  them;  the  more  careful  slipping  off 
and  easing  girths  and  curbs.  A  good  trooper 
values  his  mount  exactly  as  much  as  he  values 
himself,  and  believes,  or  should  believe,  that  the 
two  together  are  irresistible  where  women  or 
men,  girls  or  guns,  are  concerned. 

Then  the  Orderly-Officer  gave  the  order, 
"Water  horses,"  and  the  Raiment  loafed  off  to 
the  squadron-troughs  which  were  in  rear  of  the 
stables  and  between  these  and  the  barracks. 
There  were  four  huge  troughs,  one  for  each 
squadron,  arranged  en  echelon,  so  that  the  whole 
Regiment  could  water  in  ten  minutes  if  it  liked. 
But  it  lingered  for  seventeen,  as  a  rule,  while  the 
Band  played. 

The  Band  struck  up  as  the  squadrons  filed  off  to 
the  troughs,  and  the  men  slipped  their  feet  out  of 
the  stirrups  and  chaffed  each  other.  The  sun  w ras 
just  setting  in  a  big,  hot  bed  of  red  cloud,  and 
the  road  to  the  Civil  bines  seemed  to  run  straight 
into  the  sun's  eye.  There  was  a  little  dot  on  the 
road.  It  grew  and  grew  till  it  showed  as  a  horse, 
with  a  sort  of  gridiron-thing  on  his  back.  The 
red  cloud  glared  through  the  bars  of  the  gridiron. 
Some  of  the  troopers  shaded  their  eves  with  their 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  3J5 

hands  and  said  —  "What  the  mischief  'as  that 
there  'orse  got  on  'im  ?  " 

In  another  minute  they  heard  a  neigh  that  every 
soul — horse  and  man — in  the  Regiment  knew, 
and  saw,  heading  straight  toward  the  Band,  the 
dead  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  ! 

On  his  withers  banged  and  bumped  the  kettle- 
drums draped  in  crape,  and  on  his  back,  very 
stiff  and  soldierly,  sat  a  bareheaded  skeleton. 

The  Band  stopped  playing,  and,  for  a  moment, 
there  was  a  hush. 

Then  some  one  in  E  Troop — men  said  it  was 
the  Troop-Sergeant-Major  —  swung  his  horse 
round  and  yelled.  No  one  can  account  exactly 
for  what  happened  afterward ;  but  it  seems  that, 
at  least,  one  man  in  each  troop  set  an  example  of 
panic,  and  the  rest  followed  like  sheep.  The 
horses  that  had  barely  put  their  muzzles  into  the 
troughs  reared  and  capered  ;  but  as  soon  as  the 
Band  broke,  which  it  did  when  the  ghost  of  the 
Drum-Horse  was  about  a  furlong  distant,  all 
hooves  followed  suit,  and  the  clatter  of  the 
stampede — quite  different  from  the  orderly  throb 
and  roar  of  a  movement  on  parade,  or  the  rough 
horse-play  of  watering  in  camp — made  them  only 
more  terrified.  They  felt  that  the  men  on  their 
backs  were  afraid  of  something.  When  horses 
once  know  that,  all  is  over  except  the  butchery. 

Troop  after  troop  turned  from  the  troughs  and 


316  The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

ran — anywhere  and  everywhere — like  spilled 
quicksilver.  It  was  a  most  extraordinary  spec- 
tacle, for  men  and  horses  were  in  all  stages  of 
easiness,  and  the  carbine-buckets  flopping  againsl 
their  sides  urged  the  horses  on.  Men  were  shout- 
ing and  cursing,  and  trying  to  pull  clear  of  the  Band 
which  was  being  chased  by  the  Drum-Horse 
whose  rider  had  fallen  forward  and  seemed  to  be 
spurring  for  a  wager. 

The  Colonel  had  gone  over  to  the  Mess  for  a 
drink.  Most  of  the  officers  were  with  him,  and 
the  Subaltern  of  the  Day  was  preparing  to  go 
down  to  the  lines,  and  receive  the  watering  re- 
ports from  the  Troop-Sergeant-Majors.  When 
"Take  me  to  London  again"  stopped,  after 
twenty  bars,  every  one  in  the  Mess  said,  "  What 
on  earth  has  happened?"  A  minute  later,  they 
heard  unmilitary  noises,  and  saw,  far  across  the 
plain,  the  White  Hussars  scattered,  and  broken, 
and  flying. 

The  Colonel  was  speechless  with  rage,  foi  he 
thought  that  the  Regiment  had  risen  against  him 
or  was  unanimously  drunk.  The  Band,  a  dis- 
organized mob,  tore  past,  and  at  its  heels  labored 
the  Drum-Horse — the  dead  and  buried  Drum- 
Horse — with  the  jolting,  clattering  skeleton.  Ho- 
gan-Yale  whispered  softly  to  Martvn — "  No  wire 
will  stand  that  treatment,"  and  the  Band,  which 
had  doubted  like  a  hare,  came  back  again.     But 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  317 

the  rest  of  the  Regiment  was  gone,  was  rioting 
all  over  the  Province,  for  the  dusk  had  shut  in 
and  each  man  was  howling  to  his  neighbor  that 
the  Drum-Horse  was  on  his  flank.  Troop-horses 
are  far  too  tenderly  treated  as  a  rule.  They  can, 
on  emergencies,  do  a  great  deal,  even  with  seven- 
teen stone  on  their  backs.  As  the  troopers  found 
out. 

How  long  this  panic  lasted  I  cannot  say.  I  be- 
lieve that  when  the  moon  rose  the  men  saw  they 
had  nothing  to  fear,  and,  by  twos  and  threes  and 
half-troops,  crept  back  into  Cantonments  very 
much  ashamed  of  themselves.  Meantime,  the 
Drum-Horse,  disgusted  at  his  treatment  by  old 
friends,  pulled  up,  wheeled  round,  and  trotted 
up  to  the  Mess  veranda-steps  for  bread.  No 
one  li'<  :'d  to  run;  but  no  one  cared  to  go  forward 
till  the  Colonel  made  a  movement  and  laid  hold 
of  the  skeleton's  foot.  The  Band  had  halted 
some  distance  away,  and  now  came  back  slowly. 
The  Colonel  called  it,  individually  and  collectively, 
every  evil  name  that  occurred  to  him  at  the  time; 
for  he  had  set  his  hand  on  the  bosom  of  the 
Drum-Horse  and  found  flesh  and  blood.  Then 
he  beat  the  kettle-drums  with  his  clenched  fist, 
and  discovered  that  they  were  but  made  of 
silvered  paper  and  bamboo.  Next,  still  swear- 
ing, he  tried  to  drag  the  skeleton  out  of  the  sad- 
dle, but  found  that  it  had  been  wired  into  the 


3i8  The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

cantle.  The  sight  of  the  Colonel,  with  his  arms 
round  the  skeleton's   pelvis  and  his  knee  in  the 

old  Drum -Horse's  stomach,  was  striking.  Not 
to  say  amusing.  He  worried  the  thing  off  in  a 
minute  or  two,  and  threw  it  down  on  the  ground, 
saying  to  the  Band — "Here,  you  curs,  that's 
what  you're  afraid  of."  The  skeleton  did  not 
look  pretty  in  the  twilight.  The  Band-Sergeant 
seemed  to  recognize  it,  for  he  began  to  chuckle 
and  choke.  "  Shall  i  take  it  away,  sir  ?"  said  the 
Band-Sergeant.  "Yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  "take 
it  to  Hell,  and  ride  there  yourselves  !" 

The  Band-Sergeant  saluted,  hoisted  the  skeleton 
across  his  saddle-bow,  and  led  off  to  the  stables. 
Then  the  Colonel  began  to  make  inquiries  tor  the 
rest  of  tin-  Regiment,  and  the  lanjmia^e  he  used 
was  wonderful.  He  would  disband  the  R 
ment — he  would  court-martial  every  soul  in  it — 
he  would  not  command  such  a  set  of  rabble,  and 
so  on,  and  so  on.  As  the  men  dropped  in,  his 
language  jzrew  wilder,  until  at  last  it  exceeded 
the  utmost  limits  of  free  speech  allowed  even  to 
a  Colonel  of  Horse. 

Mirtyn  took  Hogan-Yale  aside  and  suggested 
compulsory  retirement  from  the  Service  as  a 
necessity  when  all  was  discovered.  Wartyn  was 
the  weaker  man  of  the  two.  Ho^an -Yale  put  up 
his  eyebrows  and  remarked,  firstly .  that  hi-  was 
the  son  of  a  Lord,  and,  secondly,  that  he  was  as 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  319 

innocent  as  the  babe  unborn  of  the  theatrical 
resurrection  of  the  Drum-Horse. 

"My  instructions,"  said  Yale,  with  a  singu- 
larly sweet  smile,  "were  that  the  Drum-Horse 
should  be  sent  back  as  impressively  as  possible. 
I  ask  you,  am  1  responsible  if  a  mule-headed 
friend  sends  him  back  in  such  a  manner  as  to  dis- 
turb the  peace  of  mind  of  a  regiment  of  Her 
Majesty's  Cavalry  ?" 

Marty  n  said,  "You  are  a  great  man,  and  will 
in  time  become  a  Genera!;  but  I'd  give  my  chance 
of  a  troop  to  be  safe  out  of  this  affair." 

Providence  saved  Martyn  and  Hogan-Yale. 
The  Second-in-Command  led  the  Colonel  away 
to  the  little  curtained  alcove  wherein  the  Sub- 
alterns of  the  White  Hussars  were  accustomed  to 
play  poker  of  nights;  and  there,  after  many  oaths 
on  the  Colonel's  part,  they  talked  together  in  low 
tones.  I  fancy  that  the  Second-in-Command 
must  have  represented  the  scare  as  the  work  of 
some  trooper  whom  it  would  be  hopeless  to  de- 
tect; and  I  know  that  he  dwelt  upon  the  sin  and 
the  shame  of  making  a  public  laughing-stock  of 
the  scare. 

"They  will  call  us,"  said  the  Second-in-Com- 
mand, who  had  really  a  fine  imagination — "they 
will  call  us  the  '  Fly-by-Nights ' ;  they  will  call  us 
the  '  Ghost  Hunters ';  they  will  nickname  us  from 
one  end  of  the  Army  List  to  the  other.    All  the 


po  The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

explanation  in  the  world  won't  make  outsiders 
understand  that  the  officers  were  away  when  the 
panic  began.  For  the  honor  of  the  Regiment 
and  for  your  own  sake  keep  this  thing  quiet." 

The  Colonel  was  so  exhausted  with  anger  that 
soothing  him  down  was  not  so  difficult  as  might 
be  imagined.  He  was  made  to  see,  gently  and 
by  degrees,  that  it  was  obviously  impossible  to 
court-martial  the  whole  Regiment  and  equally 
impossible  to  proceed  against  any  subaltern  who, 
in  his  belief,  had  any  concern  in  the  hoax. 

"But  the  beasts  alive!  He's  never  been  shot 
at  all!"  shouted  the  Colonel.  "It's  flat  flagrant 
disobedience!  I've  known  a  man  broke  for  less 
— dam  sight  less.  They're  mocking  me,  1  tell 
you,  Mutman!     They're  mocking  me!  " 

Once  more,  the  Second-in-Command  set  him- 
self to  soothe  the  Colonel,  and  wrestled  with  him 
for  half  an  hour.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  the 
Regimental  Sergeant-Major  reported  himself.  The 
situation  was  rather  novel  to  him;  but  he  was 
not  a  man  to  be  put  out  by  circumstances.  He 
saluted  and  said,  "  Regiment  all  come  back,  Sir." 
Then,  to  propitiate  the  Colonel — "An'  none  of 
the  'orses  any  the  worse,  Sir." 

The  Colonel  only  snorted  and  answered — 
"  You'd  better  tuck  the  men  into  their  cots,  then, 
and  see  that  they  don't  wake  up  and  cry  in  the 
night."    The  Sergeant  withdrew. 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  321 

His  little  stroke  of  humor  pleased  the  Colonel, 
and,  further,  he  felt  slightly  ashamed  of  the  lan- 
guage he  had  been  using.  The  Second-in-Com- 
mand  worried  him  again,  and  the  two  sat  talking 
far  into  the  night. 

Next  day  but  one,  there  was  a  Commanding 
Officer's  parade,  and  the  Colonel  harangued  the 
White  Hussars  vigorously.  The  pith  of  his 
speech  was  that,  since  the  Drum-Horse  in  his  old 
age  had  proved  himself  capable  of  cutting  up  the 
whole  Regiment,  he  should  return  to  his  post  of 
pride  at  the  head  of  the  Band,  but  the  Regiment 
were  a  set  of  ruffians  with  bad  consciences. 

The  White  Hussars  shouted,  and  threw  every- 
thing movable  about  them  into  the  air,  and 
when  the  parade  was  over,  they  cheered  the  Col- 
onel till  they  couldn't  speak.  No  cheers  were 
put  up  for  Lieutenant  Hogan-Yale,  who  smiled 
very  sweetly  in  the  background. 

Said  the  Second-in-Command  to  the  Colonel, 
unofficially  — 

"These  little  things  ensure  popularity,  and  do 
not  the  least  affect  discipline." 

"  But  I  went  back  on  my  word,"  said  the  Col- 
onel. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Second-in-Command. 
"The  White  Hussars  will  follow  you  anywhere 
from  to-day.  Regiments  are  just  like  women. 
They  will  do  anything  for  trinketry." 


)22  Tiir  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 

A  week  later,  Hogan-Yale  received  an  extraor- 
dinary letter  from  some  one  who  signed  himself 
"Secretary,  Charity  and  Zeal,  3709,  E.  C," 
and  asked  for  "  the  return  of  our  skeleton  which 
we  have  reason  to  believe  is  in  your  possession.' 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  this  lunatic  who  trades  in 
bones?"  said  Hogan-Yale. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  the  Band-Ser- 
geant, "but  the  skeleton  is  with  me,  an'  I'll  re- 
turn it  if  you'll  pay  the  carriage  into  the  Civil 
Lines.     There's  a  coffin  with  it,  Sir." 

Hogan-Yale  smiled  and  handed  two  rupees  to 
the  Band-Sergeant,  saying,  "Write  the  date  on 
the  skull,  will  you  ?" 

If  you  doubt  this  story,  and  know  where  to  go, 
you  can  see  the  date  on  the  skeleton.  But  don't 
mention  the  matter  to  the  White  Hussars. 

I  happened  to  know  something  about  it,  be- 
cause I  prepared  the  Drum-Horse  for  his  resur- 
rection. He  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  skeleton 
at  all. 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE- 
CASE 

In  the  daytime,  when  she  moved  about  me, 

In  the  night,  when  she  was  sleeping  at  my  side, — 
I  was  wearied,  I  was  wearied  of  her  presence, 
Day  by  day  and  night  by  night  I  grew  to  hate  her  — 
Would  God  that  she  or  I  had  died ! 

—  Confessions. 

THERE  was  a  man  called  Bronckhorst — a  three- 
cornered,  middle-aged  man  in  the  Army — 
grey  as  a  badger,  and,  some  people  said,  with  a 
touch  of  country-blood  in  him.  That,  however, 
cannot  be  proved.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  was  not 
exactly  young,  though  fifteen  years  younger 
than  her  husband.  She  was  a  large,  pale,  quiet 
woman,  with  heavy  eyelids  over  weak  eyes,  and 
hair  that  turned  red  or  yellow  as  the  lights  fell 
on  it. 

Bronckhorst  was  not  nice  in  any  way.  He  had 
no  respect  for  the  pretty  public  and  private  lies 
that  make  life  a  little  less  nasty  than  it  is.  His 
manner  toward  his  wife  was  coarse.  There  are 
many  things — including  actual  assault  with  the 
clenched  fist — that  a  wife  will  endure;  but  sel- 
dom a  wife  can  bear — as  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  bore 

325 


326  The  Bronchhorsi   Divorce-Case 

— with  a  long  course  of  brutal,  harJ  chaff,  mak- 
ing light  of  her  weaknesses,  her  headaches,  her 
small  fits  of  gaiety,  her  dresses,  her  queer  little 
attempts  to  make  herself  attractive  to  her  hus- 
band when  she  knows  that  she  is  not  what  she 
has  been,  and — worst  of  all — the  love  that  she 
spends  on  her  children.  That  particular  sort  of 
heavy-handed  jest  was  specially  dear  to  Bronck- 
horst.  1  suppose  that  he  had  first  slipped  into 
it,  meaning  no  harm,  in  the  honeymoon,  when 
folk  find  their  ordinary  stock  of  endearments  run 
short,  and  so  go  to  the  other  extreme  to  express 
their  feelings.  A  similar  impulse  makes  a  man 
say,  "  Hutt,  you  old  beast!"  when  a  favorite 
horse  nuzzles  his  coat-front.  Unluckily,  when 
the  reaction  of  marriage  sets  in,  the  form  of 
speech  remains,  and,  the  tenderness  having  died 
out,  hurts  the  wife  more  than  she  cares  to  say. 
But  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  was  devoted  to  her 
"Teddy  "as  she  called  him.  Perhaps  that  was 
why  he  objected  to  her.  Perhaps — this  is  only  a 
theory  to  account  fcr  his  infamous  behavior  later 
on — he  gave  way  to  the  queer,  savage  feeling 
that  sometimes  takes  by  the  throat  a  husband 
twenty  years  married,  when  he  sees,  across  the 
table,  the  same  same  face  of  his  wedded  wife, 
and  knows  that,  as  he  has  sat  facing  it,  so  must 
he  continue  to  sit  until  the  day  of  its  death  or 
his  own.     Most  men  and  all  women  know  the 


The   Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case  327 

spasm.  It  only  lasts  for  three  breaths  as  a  rule, 
must  be  a  "throw-back"  to  times  when  men 
and  women  were  rather  worse  than  they  are 
now,  and  is  too  unpleasant  to  be  discussed. 

Dinner  at  the  Bronckhorsts'  was  an  infliction 
few  men  cared  to  undergo.  Bronckhorst  took  a 
pleasure  in  saying  things  that  made  his  wife 
wince.  When  their  little  boy  came  in  at  des- 
sert, Bronckhorst  used  to  give  him  half  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  naturally  enough,  the  poor 
little  mite  got  first  riotous,  next  miserable,  and 
was  removed  screaming.  Bronckhorst  asked  if 
that  was  the  way  Teddy  usually  behaved,  and 
whether  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  could  not  spare  some 
of  her  time  "to  teach  the  little  beggar  decency." 
Mrs.  Bronckhorst,  who  loved  the  boy  more  than 
her  own  life,  tried  not  to  cry — her  spirit  seemed 
to  have  been  broken  by  her  marriage.  Lastly, 
Bronckhorst  used  to  say,  "There!  That'll  do, 
that'll  do.  For  God's  sake  try  to  behave  like  a 
rational  woman.  -  Go  into  the  drawing-room." 
Mrs.  Bronckhorst  would  go,  trying  to  carry  it  all 
off  with  a  smile;  and  the  guest  of  the  evening 
would  feel  angry  and  uncomfortable. 

After  three  years  of  this  cheerful  life — for  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  had  no  women-friends  to  talk  to — 
the  Station  was  startled  by  the  news  that  Bronck- 
horst had  instituted  proceedings  on  the  criminal 
count,  against  a  man  called  Biel,  who  certainly 


328  The   Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case 

had  been  rather  attentive  to  Mrs.  Bronckhorst 
whenever  she  had  appeared  in  public.  The 
utter  want  of  reserve  with  which  Bronckhorst 
treated  his  own  dishonor  helped  us  to  know 
that  the  evidence  against  Biel  would  be  entirely 
circumstantial  and  native.  There  were  no  let- 
ters; but  Bronckhorst  said  openly  that  he  would 
rack  Heaven  and  Earth  until  he  saw  Biel  superin- 
tending the  manufacture  of  carpets  in  the  Central 
Jail.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  kept  entirely  to  her  house, 
and  let  charitable  folks  say  what  they  pleased. 
Opinions  were  divided.  Some  two-thirds  of  the 
Station  jumped  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that 
Biel  was  guilty;  but  a  dozen  men  who  knew  and 
liked  him  held  by  him.  Biel  was  furious  and 
surprised.  He  denied  the  whole  thing,  and 
vowed  that  he  would  thrash  Bronckhorst  within 
an  inch  of  his  life.  No  jury,  we  knew,  would 
convict  a  man  on  the  criminal  count  on  native 
evidence  in  a  land  where  you  can  buy  a  murder- 
charge,  including  the  corpse,  all  complete  for 
tifty-four  rupees;  but  Biel  did  not  care  to  scrape 
through  by  the  benefit  of  a  doubt.  He  wanted 
the  whole  thing  cleared;  but,  as  he  said  one  night 
—  "He  can  prove  anything  with  servants'  evi- 
dence, and  I've  only  my  bare  word."  This  was 
almost  a  month  before  the  case  came  on;  and 
beyond  agreeing  with  Biel,  we  could  do  little. 
All  that  we  could  be  sure  of  was  that  the  native 


The  Bronchhorst  Divorce-Case  329 

evidence  would  be  bad  enough  to  blast  Bid's 
character  for  the  rest  of  his  service;  for  when  a 
native  begins  perjury  he  perjures  himself  thor- 
oughly.    He  does  not  boggle  over  details. 

Some  genius  at  the  end  of  the  table  whereat 
the  affair  was  being  talked  over,  said,  "Look 
here!  I  don't  believe  lawyers  are  any  good. 
Get  a  man  to  v/ire  to  Strickland,  and  beg  him  to 
come  down  and  pull  us  through." 

Strickland  was  about  a  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  up  the  line.  He  had  not  long  been  married 
to  Miss  Youghal,  but  he  scented  in  the  telegram 
a  chance  of  return  to  the  old  detective  work  that 
his  soul  lusted  after,  and  next  night  he  came  in 
and  heard  our  story.  He  finished  his  pipe  and 
said  oracularly,  "We  must  get  at  the  evidence. 
Oorya  bearer,  Mussulman  khit  and  sweeper 
ayah,  I  suppose,  are  the  pillars  of  the  charge.  I 
am  on  in  this  piece;  but  I'm  afraid  I'm  getting 
rusty  in  my  talk." 

He  rose  and  went  into  Biel's  bedroom,  where 
his  trunk  had  been  put,  and  shut  the  door.  An 
hour  later,  we  heard  him  say,  "I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  part  with  my  old  make-ups  when  I 
married.  Will  this  do?"  There  was  a  Iothely 
faquir  salaaming  in  the  doorway. 

"Now  lend  me  fifty  rupees,"  said  Strickland, 
"and  give  me  your  Words  of  Honor  that  you 
won't  tell  my  wife." 


350  The  Bronckhorst  Divorce  Case 

He  got  all  that  he  asked  for,  and  left  the  house 
while  the  tabic  drank  his  health.  What  he  did 
only  he  himself  knows.  A  faquir  hung  about 
Bronckhorst's  compound  for  twelve  days.  Then 
a  sweeper  appeared,  and  when  Biel  heard  of  him, 
he  said  that  Strickland  was  an  angel  full-Hedged. 
Whether  the  sweeper  made  love  to  Janki,  Mrs. 
Bronckhorsts  ayah,  is  a  question  which  concerns 
Strickland  exclusively. 

He  came  back  at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  and 
said,  quietly,  "You  spoke  the  truth,  Biel.  The 
whole  business  is  put  up  from  beginning  to  end. 
'Jove!  It  almost  astonishes  me!  That  Bronck- 
horst-beast  isn't  fit  to  live." 

There  was  uproar  and  shouting,  and  Biel  said, 
"  How  are  you  going  to  prove  it  ?  You  can't  say 
that  you've  been  trespassing  on  Bronckhorsts 
compound  in  disguise! " 

"No,"  said  Strickland.  "Tell  your  lawyer- 
fool,  whoever  he  is,  to  get  up  something  strong 
about  'inherent  improbabilities'  and  'discrep- 
ancies of  evidence.'  He  won't  have  to  speak,  but 
it  will  make  him  happy.  I'm  going  to  run  this 
business." 

Biel  held  his  tongue,  and  the  other  men  waited 
to  see  what  would  happen.  They  trusted  Strick- 
land as  men  trust  quiet  men.  When  the  case 
came  off  the  Court  was  crowded.  Strickland 
hung  about  in  the  veranda  of  the  Court,  till   he 


The  Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case  331 

met  the  Mohammedan  khitmatgar.  Then  he 
murmured  a  faquirs  blessing  in  his  ear,  and 
asked  him  how  his  second  wife  did.  The  man 
spun  round,  and,  as  he  looked  into  the  eyes  of 
"Estreeken  Sahib,"  his  jaw  dropped.  You  must 
remember  that  before  Strickland  was  married,  he 
was,  as  I  have  told  you  already,  a  power  among 
natives.  Strickland  whispered  a  rather  coarse 
vernacular  proverb  to  the  effect  that  he  was 
abreast  of  all  that  was  going  on  and  went  into 
the  Court  armed  with  a  gut  trainer's-whip. 

The  Mohammedan  was  the  first  witness  and 
Strickland  beamed  upon  him  from  the  back  of 
the  Court.  The  man  moistened  his  lips  with  his 
tongue  and,  in  his  abject  fear  of  "Estreeken 
Sahib  "  the  faquir,  went  back  on  every  detail  of 
his  evidence — said  he  was  a  poor  man  and  God 
was  his  witness  that  he  had  forgotten  everything 
that  Bronckhurst  Sahib  had  told  him  to  say.  Be- 
tween his  terror  of  Strickland,  the  Judge,  and 
Bronckhorst  he  collapsed  weeping. 

Then  began  the  panic  among  the  witnesses. 
Janki,  the  ayah,  leering  chastely  behind  her  veil, 
turned  grey,  and  the  bearer  left  the  Court.  He 
said  that  his  Mamma  was  dying  and  that  it  was 
not  wholesome  for  any  man  to  lie  unthriftily  in 
the  presence  of  "Estreeken  Sahib." 

Biel  said  politely  to  Bronckhorst,  "Your  wit- 
nesses don't  seem  to  work.     Haven't  you  any 


332  The   Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case 

forged  letters  to  produce  ? "  But  Bronckhorst 
was  swaying  to  and  fro  in  his  chair,  and  there 
was  a  dead  pause  after  Biel  had  been  called  to 
order. 

Bronckhorst's  Counsel  saw  the  look  on  his  cli- 
ent's face,  and  without  more  ado,  pitched  his  pa- 
pers on  the  little  green  baize  table,  and  mumbled 
something  about  having  been  misinformed.  The 
whole  court  applauded  wildly,  like  soldiers  at  a 
theatre,  and  the  Judge  began  to  say  what  he 
thought. 


Biel  came  out  of  the  court,  and  Strickland 
dropped  a  gut  trainer's-whip  in  the  veranda.  Ten 
minutes  later,  Biel  was  cutting  Bronckhorst  into 
ribbons  behind  the  old  Court  cells,  quietly  and 
without  scandal.  What  was  left  of  Bronckhorst 
was  sent  home  in  a  carriage;  and  his  wife  wept 
over  it  and  nursed  it  into  a  man  again. 

Later  on,  after  Biel  had  managed  to  hush  up 
the  counter-charge  against  Bronckhorst  of  fab- 
ricating false  evidence,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst,  with 
her  faint,  watery  smile,  said  that  there  had  been 
a  mistake,  but  it  wasn't  her  Teddy's  fault  alto- 
gether. She  would  wait  till  her  Teddy  came 
back  to  her.  Perhaps  he  had  grown  tired  of  her, 
or  she  had  tried  his  patience,  and  perhaps  we 
wouldn't   cut   her   any    more,   and    perhaps   the 


The  Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case  333 

mothers  would  let  their  children  play  with 
"  little  Teddy  "  again.  He  was  so  lonely.  Then 
the  Station  invited  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  everywhere, 
until  Bronckhorst  was  fit  to  appear  in  public, 
when  he  went  Home  and  took  his  wife  with  him. 
According  to  latest  advices,  her  Teddy  did  come 
back  to  her,  and  they  are  moderately  happy. 
Though,  of  course,  he  can  never  forgive  her  the 
thrashing  that  she  was  the  indirect  means  of  get- 
ting for  him. 


What  Biel  wants  to  know  is,  "Why  didn't  I 
press  home  the  charge  against  the  Bronckhorst- 
brute,  and  have  him  run  in  ?  " 

What  Mrs.  Strickland  wants  to  know  is,  "  How 
did  my  husband  bring  such  a  lovely,  lovely  Waler 
from  your  Station  ?  I  know  all  his  money-af- 
fairs; and  I'm  certain  he  didn't  buy  it." 

What  I  want  to  know  is,  "How  do  women 
like  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  come  to  marry  men  like 
Bronckhorst?" 

And  my  conundrum  is  the  most  unanswerable 
of  the  three. 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI 

And  the  years  went  on,  as  the  years  must  do; 
But  our  great  Diana  was  always  new — 
Fresh,  and  blooming,  and  blonde,  and  fair, 
With  azure  eyes  and  with  aureate  hair; 
And  all  the  folk,  as  they  came  or  went, 
Offered  her  praise  to  her  heart's  content. 

— Diana  of  Ephesns. 

SHE  had  nothing  to  do  with  Number  Eighteen 
in  the  Braccio  Nuovo  of  the  Vatican,  between 
Visconti's  Ceres  and  the  God  of  the  Nile.  She 
was  purely  an  Indian  deity — an  Anglo-Indian 
deity,  that  is  to  say — and  we  called  her  the  Venus 
Annodomini,  to  distinguish  her  from  other  Anno- 
dominis  of  the  same  everlasting  order.  There 
was  a  legend  among  the  Hills  that  she  had  once 
been  young;  but  no  living  man  was  prepared  to 
come  forward  and  say  boldly  that  the  legend 
was  true.  Men  rode  up  to  Simla,  and  stayed, 
and  went  away  and  made  their  name  and  did 
their  life's  work,  and  returned  again  to  find  the 
Venus  Annodomini  exactly  as  they  had  left  her. 
She  was  as  immutable  as  the  Hills.  But  not 
quite  so  green.  All  that  a  girl  of  eighteen  could 
do  in  the  way  of  riding,  walking,  dancing,  pic- 

337 


338  l^eims  Annodomini 

nicking  and  over-exertion  generally,  the  Venus 
Annodomini  did,  and  showed  no  sign  of  fatigue 
or  trace  of  weariness.  Besides  perpetual  youth, 
she  had  discovered,  men  said,  the  secret  of  per- 
petual health;  and  her  fame  spread  about  the 
land.  From  a  mere  woman,  she  grew  to  be  an 
Institution,  insomuch  that  no  young  man  could 
be  said  to  be  properly  formed,  who  had  not,  at 
some  time  or  another,  worshipped  at  the  shrine 
of  the  Venus  Annodomini.  There  was  no  one 
like  her,  though  there  were  many  imitations. 
Six  years  in  her  eyes  were  no  more  than  six 
months  to  ordinary  women;  and  ten  made  less 
visible  impression  on  her  than  does  a  week's 
fever  on  an  ordinary  woman.  Every  one  adored 
her,  and  in  return  she  was  pleasant  and  courteous 
to  nearly  every  one.  Youth  had  been  a  habit  of 
hers  for  so  long,  that  she  could  not  part  with  it 
— never  realized,  in  fact,  the  necessity  of  parting 
with  it — and  took  for  her  more  chosen  associates 
young  people. 

Among  the  worshippers  of  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini was  young  Gayerson.  "Very  Young 
Gayerson  "  he  was  called  to  distinguish  him  from 
his  father  "  Young"  Gayerson,  a  Bengal  Civilian, 
who  affected  the  customs — as  he  had  the  heart — 
of  youth.  "Very  Young"  Gayerson  was  not 
content  to  worship  placidly  and  for  form's  sake, 
as  the  other  young  men  did,  or  to  accept  a  ride 


Venus  Annodomini  339 

or  a  dance,  or  a  talk  from  the  Venus  Annodomini 
in  a  properly  humble  and  thankful  spirit.  He 
was  exacting,  and,  therefore,  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini repressed  him.  He  worried  himself 
nearly  sick  in  a  futile  sort  of  way  over  her;  and 
his  devotion  and  earnestness  made  him  appear 
either  shy  or  boisterous  or  rude,  as  his  mood 
might  vary,  by  the  side  of  the  older  men  who, 
with  him,  bowed  before  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
She  was  sorry  for  him.  He  reminded  her  of  a 
lad  who,  three-and-twenty  years  ago,  had  pro- 
fessed a  boundless  devotion  for  her,  and  for 
whom  in  return  she  had  felt  something  more 
than  a  week's  weakness.  But  that  lad  had  fallen 
away  and  married  another  woman  less  than  a 
year  after  he  had  worshipped  her;  and  the 
Venus  Annodomini  had  almost — not  quite — for- 
gotten his  name.  "  Very  Young"  Gayerson  had 
the  same  big  blue  eyes  and  the  same  way  of 
pouting  his  underlip  when  he  was  excited  or 
troubled.  But  the  Venus  Annodomini  checked 
him  sternly  none  the  less.  Too  much  zeal  was  a 
thing  that  she  did  not  approve  of;  preferring  in- 
stead, a  tempered  and  sober  tenderness. 

"Very  young"  Gayerson  was  miserable,  and 
took  no  trouble  to  conceal  his  wretchedness. 
He  was  in  the  Army — a  Line  regiment  I  think, 
but  am  not  certain — and,  since  his  face  was  a 
looking-glass  and  his  forehead  an  open  book,  by 


340  Venus  Annodomini 

reason  of  his  innocence,  his  brothers-in-arms 
made  his  life  a  burden  to  him  and  embittered  his 
naturally  sweet  disposition.  No  one  except 
"Very  Young"  Gayerson,  and  he  never  told  his 
views,  knew  how  old  "Very  Young"  Gaverson 
believed  the  Venus  Annodomini  to  be.  Perhaps 
he  thought  her  five-and-twenty,  or  perhaps  she 
told  him  that  she  was  this  age.  "  Very  Young" 
Gayerson  would  have  forded  the  Indus  in  flood 
to  carry  her  lightest  word,  and  had  implicit  faith 
in  her.  Every  one  liked  him,  and  every  one  was 
sorry  when  they  saw  him  so  bound  a  slave  of 
the  Venus  Annodomini.  Every  one,  too,  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  not  her  fault;  for  the  Venus 
Annodomini  differed  from  Mrs.  Hauksbee  and 
Mrs.  Reiver  in  this  particular — she  never  moved 
a  finger  to  attract  any  one;  but,  like  Ninon  de 
L'Enclos,  all  men  were  attracted  to  her.  One 
could  admire  and  respect  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  despise 
and  avoid  Mrs.  Reiver,  but  one  was  forced  to 
adore  the  Venus  Annodomini. 

"  Very  Young"  Gayerson's  papa  held  a  Divi- 
sion or  a  Collectorate  or  something  administra- 
tive in  a  particularly  unpleasant  part  of  Bengal — 
full  of  Babus  who  edited  newspapers  proving 
that  "  Young  "  Gayerson  was  a  "Nero"  and  a 
"Scylla"  and  a  "Charybdis";  and,  in  addition 
to  the  Babus,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  dysentery 
and  cholera  abroad  for  nine  months  of  the  year. 


Venus  Annodomini  341 

"Young"  Gayerson — he  was  about  five-and- 
forty — rather  liked  Babus,  they  amused  him,  but 
he  objected  to  dysentery,  and  when  he  could  get 
away,  went  to  Darjiling  for  the  most  part.  This 
particular  season  he  fancied  that  he  would  come 
up  to  Simla  and  see  his  boy.  The  boy  was  not 
altogether  pleased.  He  told  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini that  his  father  was  coming  up,  and  she 
flushed  a  little  and  said  that  she  should  be  de- 
lighted to  make  his  acquaintance.  Then  she 
looked  long  and  thoughtfully  at  "Very  Young" 
Gayerson,  because  she  was  very,  very  sorry  for 
him,  and  he  was  a  very,  very  big  idiot. 

"  My  daughter  is  coming  out  in  a  fortnight, 
Mr.  Gayerson,"  she  said. 

"  Your  what?"  said  he. 

"Daughter,"  said  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
"She's  been  out  for  a  year  at  Home  already,  and 
I  want  her  to  see  a  little  of  India.  She  is  nine- 
teen and  a  very  sensible  nice  girl  I  believe." 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson,  who  was  a  short 
twenty-two  years  old,  nearly  fell  out  of  his  chair 
with  astonishment;  for  he  had  persisted  in  be- 
lieving, against  all  belief,  in  the  youth  of  the 
Venus  Annodomini.  She,  with  her  back  to  the 
curtained  window,  watched  the  effect  of  her 
sentences  and  smiled. 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson's  papa  came  up 
twelve  days  later,  and  had  not  been  in  Simla 


342  yams  Annodomini 

four-and-twenty  hours,  before  two  men,  old  ac- 
quaintances of  his,  had  told  him  how  "Very 
Young"  Gayerson  had  been  conducting  himself. 

"Young"  Gayerson  laughed  a  good  deal,  and 
inquired  who  the  Venus  Annodomini  might  be. 
Which  proves  that  he  had  been  living  in  Bengal 
where  nobody  knows  anything  except  the  rate 
of  Exchange.  Then  he  said  boys  will  be  boys, 
and  spoke  to  his  son  about  the  matter.  "Very 
Young  "  Gayerson  said  that  he  felt  wretched  and 
unhappy;  and  "Young"  Gayerson  said  that  he 
repented  of  having  helped  to  bring  a  fool  into 
the  world.  He  suggested  that  his  son  had  better 
cut  his  leave  short  and  go  down  to  his  duties. 
This  led  to  an  unfilial  answer,  and  relations  were 
strained,  until  "  Young"  Gayerson  demanded  that 
they  should  call  on  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
"Very  Young"  Gayerson  went  with  his  papa, 
feeling,  somehow,  uncomfortable  and  small. 

The  Venus  Annodomini  received  them  gra- 
ciously and  "  Young"  Gayerson  said,  "  By  Jove! 
It's  Kitty!"  "Very  Young"  Gayerson  would 
have  listened  for  an  explanation,  if  his  time  had 
not  been  taken  up  with  trying  to  talk  to  a  large, 
handsome,  quiet,  well-dressed  girl— introduced 
to  him  by  the  Venus  Annodomini  as  her  daugh- 
ter. She  was  far  older  in  manner,  style,  and  re- 
pose than  "Very  Young"  Gayerson;  and,  as  he 
realized  this  thing,  he  felt  sick. 


Venus  Annodomini  343 

Presently,  he  heard  the  Venus  Annodomini 
saying,  "Do  you  know  that  your  son  is  one  of 
my  most  devoted  admirers  ?  " 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  "Young"  Gayerson. 
Here  he  raised  his  voice,  "  He  follows  his  father's 
footsteps.  Didn't  I  worship  the  ground  you  trod 
on,  ever  so  long  ago,  Kitty— and  you  haven't 
changed.since  then.     How  strange  it  all  seems! " 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson  said  nothing.  His 
conversation  with  the  daughter  of  the  Venus 
Annodomini  was,  through  the  rest  of  the  call, 
fragmentary  and  disjointed. 


* 


"At  five  to-morrow  then,"  said  the  Venus 
Annodomini.     "And  mind  you  are  punctual." 

"At  five  punctually,"  said  "Young"  Gayer- 
son. "You  can  lend  your  old  father  a  horse  I 
dare  say,  youngster,  can't  you  ?  I'm  going  for  a 
ride  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"Certainly,"  said  "Very  Young"  Gayerson. 
"  I  am  going  down  to-morrow  morning.  My 
ponies  are  at  your  service,  Sir." 

The  Venus  Annodomini  looked  at  him  across 
the  half-light  of  the  room,  and  her  big  grey  eyes 
filled  with  moisture.  She  rose  and  shook  hands 
with  him. 

"Good-bye,  Tom,"  whispered  the  Venus  An- 
nodomini. 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 

Little  Blind  Fish,  thou  art  marvelous  wise, 
Little  Blind  Fish,  who  put  out  thy  eyes? 
Open  thy  ears  while  I  whisper  my  wish  — 
Bring  me  a  lover,  thou  little  Blind  Fish. 

—  The  Charm  of  the  Bisara. 

SOME  natives  say  that  it  came  from  the  other 
side  of  Kulu,  where  the  eleven-inch  Temple 
Sapphire  is.  Others  that  it  was  made  at  the 
Devil-Shrine  of  Ao-Chung  in  Thibet,  was  stolen 
by  a  Kafir,  from  him  by  a  Gurkha,  from  him 
again  by  a  Lahouli,  from  him  by  a  khitmatgar, 
and  by  this  latter  sold  to  an  Englishman,  so  all 
its  virtue  was  lost;  because,  to  work  properly, 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  must  be  stolen — with  blood- 
shed if  possible,  but,  at  any  rate,  stolen. 

These  stories  of  the  coming  into  India  are  all 
false.  It  was  made  at  Pooree  ages  since — the 
manner  of  its  making  would  fill  a  small  book 
— was  stolen  by  one  of  the  Temple  dancing- 
girls  there,  for  her  own  purposes,  and  then 
passed  on  from  hand  to  hand,  steadily  north- 
ward, till  it  reached  Hanle:  alv/ays  bearing  the 
same  name — the  Bisara  of  Pooree.  In  shape  it  is 
a  tiny  square  box  of  silver,  studded  outside  with 
eight  small  balas-rubies.     Inside  the  box,  which 

347 


348  The  Bisara  of  Pooree 

opens  with  a  spring,  is  a  little  eyeless  fish,  carved 
from  some  sort  of  dark,  shiny  nut  and  wrapped 
in  a  shred  of  faded  gold-cloth.  That  is  the  Bisara 
of  Pooree,  and  it  were  better  for  a  man  to  take  a 
king-cobra  in  his  hand  than  to  touch  the  Bisara 
of  Pooree. 

All  kinds  of  magic  are  out  of  date,  and  done 
away  with  except  in  India  where  nothing  changes 
in  spite  of  the  shiny,  top-scum  stuff  that  people 
call  "civilization."  Any  man  who  knows  about 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  will  tell  you  what  its  powers 
are — always  supposing  that  it  has  been  honestly 
stolen.  It  is  the  only  regularly  working,  trust- 
worthy love-charm  in  the  country,  with  one  ex- 
ception. [The  other  charm  is  in  the  hands  of  a 
trooper  of  the  Nizam's  Horse,  at  a  place  called 
Tuprani,  due  north  of  Hyderabad.]  This  can  be 
depended  upon  for  a  fact.  Some  one  else  may 
explain  it. 

If  the  Bisara  be  not  stolen,  but  given  or  bought 
or  found,  it  turns  against  its  owner  in  three 
years,  and  leads  to  ruin  or  death.  This  is  an- 
other fact  which  you  may  explain  when  you 
have  time.  Meanwhile,  you  can  laugh  at  it.  At 
present,  the  Bisara  is  safe  on  a  hack-pony's  neck, 
inside  the  blue  bead-necklace  that  keeps  off  the 
Evil-Eye.  If  the  pony-driver  ever  finds  it,  and 
wears  it,  or  gives  it  to  his  wife,  I  am  sorry  for 
him. 


The  Bisara  of  Pooree  349 

A  very  dirty  hill-cooly  woman,  with  goitre, 
owned  it  at  Theog  in  1884.  It  came  into  Simla 
from  the  north  before  Churton's  khitmatgar 
bought  it,  and  sold  it,  for  three  times  its  silver- 
value,  to  Churton,  who  collected  curiosities.  The 
servant  knew  no  more  what  he  had  bought  than 
the  master;  but  a  man  looking  over  Churton's 
collection  of  curiosities — Churton  was  an  Assist- 
ant Commissioner  by  the  way — saw  and  held 
his  tongue.  He  was  an  Englishman;  but  knew 
how  to  believe.  Which  shows  that  he  was  dif- 
ferent from  most  Englishmen.  He  knew  that  it 
was  dangerous  to  have  any  share  in  the  little  box 
when  working  or  dormant;  for  Love  unsought 
is  a  terrible  gift. 

Pack — "  Grubby  "  Pack,  as  we  used  to  call  him 
— was,  in  every  way,  a  nasty  little  man  who 
must  have  crawled  into  the  Army  by  mistake. 
He  was  three  inches  taller  than  his  sword,  but 
not  half  so  strong.  And  the  sword  was  a  fifty- 
shilling,  tailor-made  one.  Nobody  liked  him, 
and,  I  suppose,  it  was  his  wizenedness  and 
worthlessness  that  made  him  fall  so  hopelessly  in 
love  with  Miss  Hollis,  who  was  good  and  sweet, 
and  five-foot-seven  in  her  tennis-shoes.  He  was 
not  content  with  falling  in  love  quietly,  but 
brought  all  the  strength  of  his  miserable  little 
nature  into  the  business.  If  he  had  not  been  so 
objectionable,   one  might  have  pitied  him.     He 


3>o  The  Bisara  of  Poorer 

vapored,  and  fretted,  and  fumed,  and  trotted  up 
and  down,  and  tried  to  make  himself  pleasing  in 
Miss  Hollis'  big,  quiet,  grey  eyes,  and  failed.  It 
was  one  of  the  cases  that  you  sometimes  meet, 
even  in  our  country  where  we  marry  by  Code,  of 
a  really  blind  attachment  all  on  one  side,  without 
the  faintest  possibility  of  return.  Miss  Hollis 
looked  on  Pack  as  some  sort  of  vermin  running 
about  the  road.  He  had  no  prospects  beyond 
Captain's  pay,  and  no  wits  to  help  that  out  by 
one  penny.  In  a  large-sized  man,  love  like  his 
would  have  been  touching.  In  a  good  man  it 
would  have  been  grand.  He  being  what  he  was, 
it  was  only  a  nuisance. 

You  will  believe  this  much.  What  you  will 
not  believe  is  what  follows:  Churton,  and  The 
Man  who  Knew  what  the  Bisara  was,  were 
lunching  at  the  Simla  Club  together.  Churton 
was  complaining  of  life  in  general.  His  best 
mare  had  rolled  out  of  stable  down  the  cliff  and 
had  broken  her  back;  his  decisions  were  being 
reversed  by  the  upper  Courts  more  than  an  As- 
sistant Commissioner  of  eight  years'  Standing  has 
a  right  to  expect;  he  knew  liver  and  fever,  and, 
for  weeks  past,  had  felt  out  of  sorts.  Alto- 
gether, he  was  disgusted  and  disheartened. 

Simla  Club  dining-room  is  built,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  in  two  sections,  with  an  arch- 
arrangement  dividing  them.     Come  in,   turn  to 


The  Bisara  of  Pooree  351 

your  own  left,  take  the  table  under  the  window, 
and  you  cannot  see  any  one  who  has  come  in, 
turned  to  the  right,  and  taken  a  table  on  the 
right  side  of  the  arch.  Curiously  enough,  every 
word  that  you  say  can  be  heard,  not  only  by 
the  other  diner,  but  by  the  servants  beyond  the 
screen  through  which  they  bring  dinner.  This  is 
worth  knowing;  an  echoing-room  is  a  trap  to  be 
forewarned  against. 

Half  in  fun,  and  half  hoping  to  be  believed, 
The  Man  who  Knew  told  Churton  the  story  of 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  at  rather  greater  length  than 
I  have  told  it  to  you  in  this  place;  winding  up 
with  a  suggestion  that  Churton  might  as  well 
throw  the  little  box  down  the  hill  and  see 
whether  all  his  troubles  would  go  with  it.  In 
ordinary  ears,  English  ears,  the  tale  was  only  an 
interesting  bit  of  folklore.  Churton  laughed, 
said  that  he  felt  better  for  his  tiffin,  and  went  out. 
Pack  had  been  tiffining  by  himself  to  the  right  of 
the  arch,  and  had  heard  everything.  He  was 
nearly  mad  with  his  absurd  infatuation  for  Miss 
Hollis,  that  all  Simla  had  been  laughing  about. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that,  when  a  man  hates  or 
loves  beyond  reason,  he  is  ready  to  go  beyond 
reason  to  gratify  his  feelings.  Which  he  would 
not  do  for  money  or  power  merely.  Depend 
upon  it,  Solomon  would  never  have  built  altars 
to   Ashtaroth  and   all  those   ladies   with    queer 


352  The  Bisara  of  Pooree 

names,  if  there  had  not  been  trouble  of  some 
kind  in  his  [enana,  and  nowhere  else.  But  this 
is  beside  the  story.  The  facts  of  the  case  are 
these:  Pack  called  on  Churton  next  day  when 
Churton  was  out,  left  his  card,  and  stole  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree  from  its  place  under  the  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece!  Stole  it  like  the  thief  he 
was  by  nature.  Three  days  later  all  Simla  was 
electrified  by  the  news  that  Miss  Hollis  had  ac- 
cepted Pack — the  shrivelled  rat,  Pack!  Do  you 
desire  clearer  evidence  than  this  ?  The  Bisara  of 
Pooree  had  been  stolen,  and  it  worked  as  it  had 
always  done  when  won  by  foul  means. 

There  are  three  or  four  times  in  a  man's  life 
when  he  is  justified  in  meddling  with  other  peo- 
ple's affairs  to  play  Providence. 

The  Man  who  Knew  felt  that  he  was  justified; 
but  believing  and  acting  on  a  belief  are  quite  dif- 
ferent things.  The  insolent  satisfaction  of  Pack 
as  he  ambled  by  the  side  of  Miss  Hollis,  and 
Churton's  striking  release  from  liver,  as  soon  as 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  had  gone,  decided  The  Man. 
He  explained  to  Churton,  and  Churton  laughed, 
because  he  was  not  brought  up  to  believe  that 
men  on  the  Government  House  List  steal — at 
least  little  things.  But  the  miraculous  accept- 
ance by  Miss  Hollis  of  that  tailor.  Pack,  decided 
him  to  take  steps  on  suspicion.  He  vowed  that 
he   only   wanted   to   find   out   where  his  ruby- 


The  Bisara  of  Pooree  353 

studded  silver  box  had  vanished  to.  You  cannot 
accuse  a  man  on  the  Government  House  List  of 
stealing.  And  if  you  rifle  his  room,  you  are  a 
thief  yourself.  Churton,  prompted  by  The  Man 
who  Knew,  decided  on  burglary.  If  he  found 
nothing  in  Pack's  room  ...  but  it  is  not 
nice  to  think  of  what  would  have  happened  in 
that  case. 

Pack  went  to  a  dance  at  Benmore— Benmore 
was  Benmore  in  those  days,  and  not  an  office— 
and  danced  fifteen  waltzes  out  of  twenty-two 
with  Miss  Hollis.  Churton  and  The  Man  took  all 
the  keys  that  they  could  lay  hands  on,  and  went 
to  Pack's  room  in  the  hotel,  certain  that  his  serv- 
ants would  be  away.  Pack  was  a  cheap  soul. 
He  had  not  purchased  a  decent  cash-box  to  keep 
his  papers  in,  but  one  of  those  native  imitations 
that  you  buy  for  ten  rupees.  It  opened  to  any 
sort  of  key,  and  there  at  the  bottom,  under 
Pack's  Insurance  Policy,  lay  the  Bisara  of  Pooree! 

Churton  called  Pack  names,  put  the  Bisara  of 
Pooree  in  his  pocket,  and  went  to  the  dance  with 
The  Man.  At  least,  he  came  in  time  for  supper, 
and  saw  the  beginning  of  the  end  in  Miss  Hollis' 
eyes.  She  was  hysterical  after  supper,  and  was 
taken  away  by  her  Mamma. 

At  the  dance,  with  the  abominable  Bisara  in  his 
pocket,  Churton  twisted  his  foot  on  one  of  the 
steps  leading  down  to  the  old  Rink,  and  had  to 


354  The  Bisjra  of  Pooree 

be  sent  home  in  a  'rickshaw,  grumbling.  He  did 
not  believe  in  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  any  the  more 
for  this  manifestation,  but  he  sought  out  Pack 
and  called  him  some  ugly  names;  and  "thief" 
was  the  mildest  of  them.  Pack  took  the  names 
with  the  nervous  smile  of  a  little  man  who  wants 
both  soul  and  body  to  resent  an  insult,  and  went 
his  way.     There  was  no  public  scandal. 

A  week  later,  Pack  got  his  definite  dismissal 
from  Miss  Hollis.  There  had  been  a  mistake  in 
the  placing  of  her  affections,  she  said.  So  he 
went  away  to  Madras,  where  he  can  do  no  great 
harm  even  if  he  lives  to  be  a  Colonel. 

Churton  insisted  upon  The  Man  who  Knew 
taking  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  as  a  gift.  The  Man 
took  it,  went  down  to  the  Cart-Road  at  once, 
found  a  cart-pony  with  a  blue  bead-necklace, 
fastened  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  inside  the  necklace 
with  a  piece  of  shoe-string  and  thanked  Heaven 
that  he  was  rid  of  a  danger.  Remember,  in  case 
you  ever  find  it,  that  you  must  not  destroy  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree.  I  have  not  time  to  explain 
why  just  now,  but  the  power  lies  in  the  little 
wooden  fish.  Mister  Gubernatis  or  Max  Muller 
could  tell  you  more  about  it  than  I. 

You  will  say  that  all  this  story  is  made  up. 
Very  well.  If  ever  you  come  across  a  1  ttle, 
silver,  ruby-studded  box,  seven-eights  of  an  inch 
long  by  three-quarters  wide,  with  a  dark  biown 


The  Bisara  of  Pooree  355 

wooden  fish,  wrapped  in  gold  cloth,  inside  it, 
keep  it.  Keep  it  for  three  years,  and  then  you 
will  discover  for  yourself  whether  my  story  is 
true  or  false. 

Better  still,  steal  it  as  Pack  did,  and  you  will 
be  sorry  that  you  had  not  killed  yourself  in  the 
beginning. 


A  FRIENDS  FRIEND 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 

Wherefore  slew  you  the  stranger?     He  brought  me  dishonor. 
I  saddled  my  mare  Bijli.     I  set  him  upon  her. 
I  gave  him  rice  and  goat's  flesh.     He  bared  me  to  laughter; 
When  he  was  gone  from  my  tent,  swift  I  followed  after, 
Taking  a  sword  in  my  hand.     The  hot  wine  had  filled  him  : 
Under  the  stars  he  mocked  me.     Therefore  I  killed  him. 

— Hadramauti. 

THIS  tale  must  be  told  in  the  first  person  for 
many  reasons.  The  man  whom  I  want  to 
expose  is  Tranter  of  the  Bombay  side.  I  want 
Tranter  black-balled  at  his  Club,  divorced  from 
his  wife,  turned  out  of  Service,  and  cast  into 
prison,  until  1  get  an  apology  from  him  in  writ- 
ing. I  wish  to  warn  the  world  against  Tranter 
of  the  Bombay  side. 

You  know  the  casual  way  in  which  men  pass 
on  acquaintances  in  India  ?  It  is  a  great  conven- 
ience, because  you  can  get  rid  of  a  man  you  don't 
like  by  writing  a  letter  of  introduction  and 
putting  him,  with  it,  into  the  train.  T.  G.'s  are 
best  treated  thus.  If  you  keep  them  moving, 
they  have  no  time  to  say  insulting  and  offensive 
things  about  "Anglo-Indian  Society." 

One  day,  late  in  the  cold  weather,  I  got  a  letter 

359 


360  A  Friend's  Friend 

of  preparation  from  Tranter  of  the  Bombay  side, 
advising  me  of  the  advent  of  a  T.  G.,  a  man 
called  Jevon;  and  saying,  as  usual,  that  any  kind- 
ness shown  to  Jevon  would  be  a  kindness  to 
Tranter.  Every  one  knows  the  regular  form  of 
these  communications. 

Two  days  afterward,  Jevon  turned  up  with  his 
letter  of  introduction,  and  I  did  what  I  could  for 
him.  He  was  lint-haired,  fresh-colored,  and  very 
English.  But  he  held  no  views  about  the  Govern- 
ment of  India.  Nor  did  he  insist  on  shooting 
tigers  on  the  Station  Mall,  as  some  T.  G.'s  do. 
Nor  did  he  call  us  "colonists,"  and  dine  in  a 
flannel-shirt  and  tweeds,  under  that  delusion  as 
other  T.  G.'s  do.  He  was  well-behaved  and 
very  grateful  for  the  little  1  won  for  him — most 
grateful  of  all  when  1  secured  him  an  invitation 
for  the  Afghan  Ball,  and  introduced  him  to  a 
Mrs.  Deemes,  a  lady  for  whom  I  had  a  great  re- 
spect and  admiration,  who  danced  like  the 
shadow  of  a  leaf  in  a  light  wind.  I  set  great 
store  by  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Deemes;  but,  had 
1  known  what  was  coming,  I  would  have  broken 
Jevon's  neck  with  a  curtain-pole  before  getting 
him  that  invitation. 

But  1  did  not  know,  and  he  dined,  at  the  Club, 
I  think,  on  the  night  of  the  ball.  1  dined  at 
home.  When  I  went  to  the  dance,  the  first  man 
I  met  asked  me  whether  1  had  seen  jevon.    "  No, " 


A  Friend's  Friend  361 

said  I.  "He's  at  the  Club.  Hasn't  he  come  ?" 
— "Come!"  said  the  man.  "Yes,  he's  very 
much  come.    You'd  better  look  at  him." 

I  sought  for  Jevon.  I  found  him  sitting  on  a 
bench  and  smiling  to  himself  and  a  programme. 
Half  a  look  was  enough  for  me.  On  that  one 
night,  of  all  others,  he  had  begun  a  long  and 
thirsty  evening,  by  taking  too  much!  He  was 
breathing  heavily  through  his  nose,  his  eyes  were 
rather  red,  and  he  appeared  very  satisfied  with  all 
the  earth.  I  put  up  a  little  prayer  that  the  waltz- 
ing would  work  off  the  wine,  and  went  about 
programme-filling,  feeling  uncomfortable.  But 
\  saw  Jevon  walk  up  to  Mrs.  Deemes  for  the  first 
dance,  and  I  knew  that  all  the  waltzing  on  the 
card  was  not  enough  to  keep  Jevon's  rebellious 
legs  steady.  That  couple  went  round  six  times. 
I  counted.  Mrs.  Deemes  dropped  Jevon's  arm 
and  came  across  to  me. 

I  am  not  going  to  repeat  what  Mrs.  Deemes 
said  to  me;  because  she  was  very  angry  indeed. 
I  am  not  going  to  write  what  I  said  to  Mrs. 
Deemes,  because  I  didn't  say  anything.  I  only 
wished  that  I  had  killed  Jevon  first  and  been 
hanged  for  it.  Mrs.  Deemes  drew  her  pencil 
through  all  the  dances  that  I  had  booked  with 
her,  and  went  away,  leaving  me  to  remember 
that  what  I  ought  to  have  said  was  that  Mrs. 
Deemes  had  asked  to  be  introduced  to  Jevon  be- 


362  A  Friend's  Friend 

cause  he  danced  well;  and  that  I  really  had  not 
carefully  worked  out  a  plot  to  get  her  insulted. 
But  I  felt  that  argument  was  no  good,  and  that  1 
had  better  try  to  stop  Jevon  from  waltzing  me 
into  more  trouble.  He,  however,  was  gone,  and 
about  every  third  dance  1  set  off  to  hunt  for  him. 
This  ruined  what  little  pleasure  1  expected  from 
the  entertainment. 

Just  before  supper  I  caught  Jevon,  at  the  buffet 
with  his  legs  wide  apart,  talking  to  a  very  fat  and 
indignant  chaperone.  "  If  this  person  is  a  friend 
of  yours,  as  1  understand  he  is,  1  would  recom- 
mend you  to  take  him  home,"  said  she.  "  He  is 
unfit  for  decent  society."  Then  I  knew  that 
goodness  only  knew  what  Jevon  had  been  doing, 
and  1  tried  to  get  him  away. 

But  Jevon  wasn't  going;  not  he.  He  knew 
what  was  good  for  him,  he  did;  and  he  wasn't 
going  to  be  dictated  to  by  any  laconical  nigger- 
driver,  he  wasn't;  and  1  was  the  friend  who  had 
formed  his  infant  mind  and  brought  him  up  to 
buy  Benares  brassware  and  fear  God,  so  I  was; 
and  we  would  have  many  more  blazing  good 
drunks  together,  so  we  would;  and  all  the  she- 
camels  in  black  silk  in  the  world  shouldn't  make 
him  withdraw  his  opinion  that  there  was  nothing 
better  than  Benedictine  to  give  one  an  appetite. 
And  then     .     .     .     but  he  was  my  guest. 

j  set  him  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  supper-room, 


A  Friend's  Friend  363 

and  went  to  find  a  wall-prop  that  I  could  trust. 
There  was  a  good  and  kindly  Subaltern — may 
Heaven  bless  that  Subaltern,  and  make  him  a 
Commander-in-Chief! — who  heard  of  my  trouble. 
He  was  not  dancing  himself,  and  he  owned  a  head 
like  five-year-old  teak-baulks.  He  said  that  he 
would  look  after  Jevon  till  the  end  of  the  ball. 

"'Don't  suppose  you  much  mind  what  I  do 
with  him  ?"'said  he. 

"Mind!"  said  I.  "No!  You  can  murder  the 
beast  if  you  like." 

But  the  Subaltern  did  not  murder  him.  He 
trotted  off  to  the  supper-room,  and  sat  down  by 
Jevon,  drinking  peg  for  peg  with  him.  I  saw 
the  two  fairly  established,  and  went  away,  feel- 
ing more  easy. 

When  "The  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England" 
sounded,  I  heard  of  Jevon's  performances  be- 
tween the  first  dance  and  my  meeting  with  him 
at  the  buffet.  After  Mrs.  Deemes  had  cast  him 
off,  it  seems  that  he  had  found  his  way  into  the 
gallery,  and  offered  to  conduct  the  Band  or  to 
play  any  instrument  in  it  just  as  the  Bandmaster 
pleased. 

When  the  Bandmaster  refused,  Jevon  said  that 
he  wasn't  appreciated,  and  he  yearned  for  sym- 
pathy. So  he  trundled  downstairs  and  sat  out 
four  dances  with  four  girls,  and  proposed  to 
three  of  them.     One  of  the  girls  was  a  married 


364  A  Friend's  Flint  J 

woman  by  the  way.  Then  he  went  into  the 
whist-room,  and  fell  face-down  and  wept  on  the 
hearth-rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  because  he  had 
fallen  into  a  den  of  card-sharpers,  and  his 
Mamma  had  always  warned  him  against  bad 
company.  He  had  done  a  lot  of  other  things,  too, 
and  had  taken  about  three  quarts  of  mixed 
liquors.  Besides,  speaking  of  me  in  the  most 
scandalous  fashion! 

All  the  women  wanted  him  turned  out,  and  all 
the  men  wanted  him  kicked.  The  worst  of  it 
was,  that  every  one  said  it  was  my  fault.  Now, 
I  put  it  to  you  how  on  earth  could  I  have  known 
that  this  innocent,  fluffy  T.  G.  would  break  out 
in  this  disgusting  manner  ?  You  see  he  had  gone 
round  the  world  nearly,  and  his  vocabulary  of 
abuse  was  cosmopolitan,  though  mainly  Japanese 
which  he  had  picked  up  in  a  low  tea-house  at 
Hakodate.     It  sounded  like  whistling. 

While  I  was  listening  to  first  one  man  and  then 
another  telling  me  of  Jevons  shameless  behavior 
and  asking  me  for  his  blood,  1  wondered  where 
he  was.  I  was  prepared  to  sacrifice  him  to  So- 
ciety on  the  spot. 

But  Jevon  was  gone,  and,  far  away  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  supper-room,  sat  my  dear,  good  Sub- 
altern, a  little  flushed,  eating  salad.  I  went  over 
and  said,  "Where's  Jevon?" — "In  the  cloak- 
room," said  the  Subaltern.     "  He'll  keep  till  the 


A  Friend's  Friend  365 

women  have  gone.  Don't  you  interfere,  with 
my  prisoner."  I  didn't  want  to  interfere  but  I 
peeped  into  the  cloakroom,  and  found  my  guest 
put  to  bed  on  some  rolled-up  carpets,  all  comfy, 
his  collar  free,  and  a  wet  swab  on  his  head. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  I  spent  in  making  timid 
attempts  to  explain  things  to  Mrs.  Deemes  and 
three  or  four  other  ladies,  and  trying  to  clear  my 
character — for  I  am  a  respectable  man — from  the 
shameful  slurs  that  my  guest  had  cast  upon  it. 
Libel  was  no  word  for  what  he  had  said. 

When  I  wasn't  trying  to  explain,  I  was  running 
off  to  the  cloakroom  to  see  that  Jevon  wasn't 
dead  of  apoplexy.  I  didn't  want  him  to  die  on 
my  hands.     He  had  eaten  my  salt. 

At  last  that  ghastly  ball  ended,  though  I  was 
not  in  the  least  restored  to  Mrs.  Deemes'  favor. 
When  the  ladies  had  gone,  and  some  one  was 
calling  for  songs  at  the  second  supper,  that  an- 
gelic Subaltern  told  the  servants  to  bring  in  the 
Sahib  who  was  in  the  cloakroom,  and  clear  away 
one  end  of  the  supper-table.  While  this  was  be- 
ing done,  we  formed  ourselves  into  a  Board  of 
Punishment  with  the  Doctor  for  President. 

Jevon  came  in  on  four  men's  shoulders,  and 
was  put  down  on  the  table  like  a  corpse  in  a 
dissecting-room,  while  the  Doctor  lectured  on 
the  evils  of  intemperance  and  Jevon  snored. 
Then  we  set  to  work. 


}66  A  Friend's  Friend 

We  corked  the  whole  of  his  face.  We  filled 
his  hair  with  meringue-cream  till  it  looked  like  a 
white  wig.  To  protect  everything  till  it  dried,  a 
man  in  the  Ordnance  Department,  who  under- 
stood the  work,  luted  a  big  blue  paper  cap  from 
a  cracker,  with  meringue-cream,  low  down  on 
Jevon*s  forehead.  This  was  punishment,  not 
play,  remember.  We  took  gelatine  off  crackers, 
and  stuck  blue  gelatine  on  his  nose,  and  yellow 
gelatine  on  his  chin,  and  green  and  red  gelatine 
on  his  cheeks,  pressing  each  dab  down  till  it  held 
as  firm  as  goldbeaters'  skin. 

We  put  a  ham-frill  round  his  neck,  and  tied  it 
in  a  bow  in  front.     He  nodded  like  a  mandarin. 

We  fixed  gelatine  on  the  back  of  his  hands,  and 
burned-corked  them  inside,  and  put  small  cutlet- 
frills  round  his  wrists,  and  tied  both  wrists 
together  with  string.  We  waxed  up  the  ends  of 
his  moustache  with  isinglass.  He  looked  very 
martial. 

We  turned  him  over,  pinned  up  his  coat-tails 
between  his  shoulders,  and  put  a  rosette  of  cut- 
let-frills there.  We  took  up  the  red  cloth  from 
the  ball-room  to  the  supper-room,  and  wound 
him  up  in  it.  There  were  sixty  feet  of  red  cloth, 
six  feet  broad;  and  he  rolled  up  into  a  big  fat 
bundle,  with  only  that  amazing  head  sticking  out. 

Lastly,  we  tied  up  the  surplus  of  the  cloth  be- 
yond   his    feet    with    cocoanut-fibre    string    as 


A  Friend's  Friend  367 

tightly  as  we  knew  how.     We  were  so  angry 
that  we  hardly  laughed  at  all. 

Just  as  we  finished,  we  heard  the  rumble  of 
bullock-carts  taking  away  some  chairs  and  things 
that  the  General's  wife  had  loaned  for  the  ball. 
So  we  hoisted  Jevon,  like  a  roll  of  carpets,  into 
one  of  the  carts,  and  the  carts  went  away. 

Now  the  most  extraordinary  part  of  this  tale  is 
that  never  again  did  I  see  or  hear  anything  of 
Jevon,  T.  G.  He  vanished  utterly.  He  was  not 
delivered  at  the  General's  house  with  the  carpets. 
He  just  went  into  the  black  darkness  of  the  end 
of  the  night,  and  was  swallowed  up.  Perhaps 
he  died  and  was  thrown  into  the  river. 

But,  alive  or  dead,  I  have  often  wondered  how 
he  got  rid  of  the  red  cloth  and  the  meringue- 
cream.  I  wonder  still  whether  Mrs.  Deemes  will 
ever  take  any  notice  of  me  again,  and  whether  I 
shall  live  down  the  infamous  stories  that  Jevon 
set  afloat  about  my  manners  and  customs  be- 
tween the  first  and  the  ninth  waltz  of  the  Afghan 
Ball.     They  stick  closer  than  cream. 

Wherefore,  I  want  Tranter  of  the  Bombay  side, 
dead  or  alive.     But  dead  for  preference. 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED 
SORROWS 

If  I  can  attain  Heaven  for  a  pice,  why  should  you  be  envious? 

—  Opium  Smoker 's  Proverb. 

THIS  is  no  work  of  mine.  My  friend,  Gabral 
Misquitta,  the  half-caste,  spoke  it  all,  be- 
tween moonset  and  morning,  six  weeks  before 
he  died;  and  I  took  it  down  from  his  mouth  as 
he  answered  my  questions.     So: 

It  lies  between  the  Coppersmith's  Gully  and 
the  pipe-stem  sellers'  quarter,  within  a  hundred 
yards,  too,  as  the  crow  flies,  of  the  Mosque  of 
Wazir  Khan.  I  don't  mind  telling  any  one  this 
much,  but  I  defy  him  to  find  the  Gate,  however 
well  he  may  think  he  knows  the  City.  You 
might  even  go  through  the  very  gully  it  stands 
in  a  hundred  times,  and  be  none  the  wiser.  We 
used  to  call  the  gully,  "The  Gully  of  the  Black 
Smoke,"  but  its  native  name  is  altogether  differ- 
ent of  course,  A  loaded  donkey  couldn't  pass 
between  the  walls;  and,  at  one  point,  just  before 
you  reach  the  Gate,  a  bulged  house-front  makes 
people  go  along  all  sideways. 

It  isn't  really  a  gate  though.    It's  a  house.    Old 

3V 


372  The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows 

Fung-Tching  had  it  first  five  years  ago.  He  was 
a  boot-maker  in  Calcutta.  They  say  that  he 
murdered  his  wife  there  when  he  was  drunk. 
That  was  why  he  dropped  bazar-rum  and  took 
to  the  Black  Smoke  instead.  Later  on,  he  came 
up  north  and  opened  the  Gate  as  a  house  where 
you  could  get  your  smoke  in  peace  and  quiet. 
Mind  you,  it  was  a  pukka,  respectable  opium- 
house,  and  not  one  of  those  stifling,  sweltering 
chandoo-khanas,  that  you  can  find  all  over  the 
City.  No;  the  old  man  knew  his  business  thor- 
oughly, and  he  was  most  clean  for  a  Chinaman. 
He  was  a  one-eyed  little  chap,  not  much  more 
than  five  feet  high,  and  both  his  middle  lingers 
were  gone.  All  the  same,  he  was  the  handiest 
man  at  rolling  black  pills  1  have  ever  seen.  Never 
seemed  to  be  touched  by  the  Smoke,  either;  and 
what  he  took  day  and  night,  night  and  day,  was 
a  caution.  I've  been  at  it  five  years,  and  1  can 
do  my  fair  share  of  the  Smoke  with  any  one;  but 
I  was  a  child  to  Fung-Tching  that  way.  All  the 
same,  the  old  man  was  keen  on  his  money:  very 
keen;  and  that's  what  I  can't  understand.  1 
heard  he  saved  a  good  deal  before  he  died,  but 
his  nephew  lias  got  all  that  now;  and  the  old 
man's  gone  back  to  China  to  be  buried. 

He  kept  the  big  upper  room,  where  his  best 
customers  gathered,  as  neat  as  a  new  pin.  In 
one  corner  used  t<>  stand  Fung-Tching's  Joss — 


The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  373 

almost  as  ugly  as  Fung-Tching— and  there  were 
always  sticks  burning  under  his  nose;  but  you 
never  smelled  'em  when  the  pipes  were  going 
thick.  Opposite  the  Joss  was  Fung-Tching's 
coffin.  He  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  savings 
on  that,  and  whenever  a  new  man  came  to  the 
Gate  he  was  always  introduced  to  it.  It  was 
lacquered  black,  with  red  and  gold  writings  on 
it,  and  I've  heard  that  Fung-Tching  brought  it 
out  all  the  way  from  China.  I  don't  know 
whether  that's  true  or  not,  but  I  know  that,  if  I 
came  first  in  the  evening,  I  used  to  spread  my  mat 
just  at  the  foot  of  it.  It  was  a  quiet  corner,  you 
see,  and  a  sort  of  breeze  from  the  gully  came  in 
at  the  window  now  and  then.  Besides  the  mats, 
there  was  no  other  furniture  in  the  room — only 
the  coffin,  and  the  old  Joss  all  green  and  blue 
and  purple  with  age  and  polish. 

Fung-Tching  never  told  us  why  he  called  the 
place  "The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows."  (He 
was  the  only  Chinaman  I  know  who  used  bad- 
sounding  fancy  names.  Most  of  them  are  flow- 
ery. As  you'll  see  in  Calcutta.)  We  used  to 
find  that  out  for  ourselves.  Nothing  grows  on 
you  so  much,  if  you're  white,  as  the  Black 
Smoke.  A  yellow  man  is  made  different. 
Opium  doesn't  tell  on  him  scarcely  at  all; 
but  white  and  black  suffer  a  good  deal.  Of 
course,  there  are  some  people  that  the  Smoke 


374  The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows 

doesn't  touch  any  more  than  tobacco  would  at 
first.  They  just  doze  a  bit.  as  one  would  fall 
asleep  naturally,  and  next  morning  they  are  al- 
most tit  for  work.  Now,  1  was  one  of  that  sort 
when  1  began,  but  I've  been  at  it  for  five  years 
pretty  steadily,  and  it's  different  now.  There 
was  an  old  aunt  of  mine,  down  Agra  way,  and 
she  left  me  a  little  at  her  death.  About  sixty 
rupees  a  month  secured.  Sixty  isn't  much.  1 
can  recollect  a  time,  'seems  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  years  ago,  that  I  was  getting  my  three 
hundred  a  month,  and  pickings,  when  I  was 
working  on  a  big  timber-contract  in  Calcutta. 

1  didn't  stick  to  that  work  for  long.  The  Black 
Smoke  does  not  allow  of  much  other  business; 
and  even  though  I  am  very  little  affected  by  it,  as 
men  go  I  couldn't  do  a  day's  work  now  to  save 
my  life.  After  all,  sixty  rupees  is  what  I  want. 
When  old  Fung-Tching  was  alive  he  used  to 
draw  the  money  for  me,  give  me  about  half  of  it 
to  live  on  (I  eat  very  little),  and  the  rest  he  kept 
himself.  I  was  free  of  the  Gate  at  any  time  of 
the  day  and  night,  and  could  smoke  and  sleep 
there  when  I  liked,  so  I  didn't  care.  I  know  the 
old  man  made  a  good  thing  out  of  it;  but  that's 
no  matter.  Nothing  matters  much  to  me;  and 
besides,  the  monev  always  came  fresh  and  fresh 
each  month. 

There  was  ten  of  us  met  at  the  Gate  when  the 


The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  375 

place  was  first  opened.  Me,  and  two  Baboos 
from  a  Government  Office  somewhere  in  Anar- 
kulli,  but  they  got  the  sack  and  couldn't  pay  (no 
man  who  has  to  work  in  the  daylight  can  do  the 
Black  Smoke  for  any  length  of  time  straight  on) ; 
a  Chinaman  that  was  Fung-Tching's  nephew;  a 
bazar-woman  that  had  got  a  lot  of  money  some- 
how; an  English  loafer — Mac-Somebody  1  think, 
but  I  have  forgotten, — that  smoked  heaps,  but 
never  seemed  to  pay  anything  (they  said  he  had 
saved  Fung-Tching's  life  at  some  trial  in  Calcutta 
when  he  was  a  barrister) ;  another  Eurasian,  like 
myself,  from  Madras;  a  half-caste  woman,  and  a 
couple  of  men  who  said  they  had  come  from  the 
North.  I  think  they  must  have  been  Persians  or 
Afghans  or  something.  There  are  not  more  than 
five  of  us  living  now,  but  we  come  regular.  I 
don't  know  what  happened  to  the  Baboos;  but 
the  bazar-woman  she  died  after  six  months  of 
the  Gate,  and  I  think  Fung-Tching  took  her 
bangles  and  nose-ring  for  himself.  But  I'm  not 
certain.  The  Englishman,  he  drank  as  well  as 
smoked,  and  he  dropped  off.  One  of  the  Per- 
sians got  killed  in  a  row  at  night  by  the  big  well 
near  the  mosque  a  long  time  ago,  and  the  Police 
shut  up  the  well,  because  they  said  it  was  full 
of  foul  air.  They  found  him  dead  at  the  bottom 
of  it.  So  you  see,  there  is  only  me,  the  Chinaman, 
the  half-caste  woman  that  we  call  the  Memsahib 


576  The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows 

(she  used  to  live  with  Fung-Tching),  the  other 
Eurasian,  and  one  of  the  Persians.  The  Memsa- 
hib  looks  very  old  now.  I  think  she  was  a  young 
woman  when  the  Gate  was  opened;  but  we  are 
all  old  for  the  matter  of  that.  Hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  years  old.  It  is  very  hard  to  keep 
count  of  time  in  the  Gate,  and,  besides,  time 
doesn't  matter  to  me.  I  draw  my  sixty  rupees 
fresh  and  fresh  every  month.  A  very,  very  long 
while  ago,  when  I  used  to  be  getting  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  rupees  a  month,  and  pickings,  on 
a  big  timber-contract  at  Calcutta,  I  had  a  wife  of 
sorts.  But  she's  dead  now.  People  said  that  I 
killed  her  by  taking  to  the  Black  Smoke.  Per- 
haps 1  did,  but  it's  so  long  since  that  it  doesn't 
matter.  Sometimes  when  I  first  came  to  the 
Gate,  I  used  to  feel  sorry  for  it;  but  that's  all 
over  and  done  with  long  ago,  and  I  draw  my 
sixty  rupees  fresh  and  fresh  every  month,  and 
am  quite  happv.  Not  drunk  happy,  you  know, 
but  always  quiet  and  soothed  and  contented. 

How  did  I  take  to  it  ?  It  began  at  Calcutta.  I 
used  to  try  it  in  my  own  house,  just  to  see  what 
it  was  like.  I  never  went  very  far,  but  I  think 
my  wife  must  have  died  then.  Anyhow,  I  found 
myself  here,  and  got  to  know  Fung-Tching.  / 
don't  remember  rightly  how  that  came  about; 
but  he  told  me  of  the  Gate  and  I  used  to  go  there, 
and,  somehow,   I  have   never  got  away  from  it 


The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  377 

since.  Mind  you,  though,  the  Gate  was  a  re- 
spectable place  in  Fung-Tching's  time  where  you 
could  be  comfortable,  and  not  at  all  like  the 
chandoo-hhanas  where  the  niggers  go.  No;  it 
was  clean  and  quiet,  and  not  crowded.  Of 
course,  there  were  others  beside  us  ten  and  the 
man;  but  we  always  had  a  mat  apiece,  with  a 
wadded  woolen  headpiece,  all  covered  with 
black  and  red  dragons  and  things;  just  like  the 
coffin  in  the  corner. 

At  the  end  of  one's  third  pipe  the  dragons  used 
to  move  about  and  fight.  I've  watched  'em 
many  and  many  a  night  through.  I  used  to  reg- 
ulate my  Smoke  that  way,  and  now  it  takes  a 
dozen  pipes  to  make  'em  stir.  Besides,  they  are 
all  torn  and  dirty,  like  the  mats,  and  old  Fung- 
Tching  is  dead.  He  died  a  couple  of  years  ago, 
and. gave  me  the  pipe  I  always  use  now — a  silver 
one,  with  queer  beasts  crawling  up  and  down 
the  receiver-bottle  below  the  cup.  Before  that, 
I  think,  I  used  a  big  bamboo  stem  with  a  copper 
cup,  a  very  small  one,  and  a  green  jade  mouth- 
piece. It  was  a  little  thicker  than  a  walking- 
stick  stem,  and  smoked  sweet,  very  sweet. 
The  bamboo  seemed  to  suck  up  the  smoke.  Sil- 
ver doesn't,  and  I've  got  to  clean  it  out  now  and 
then,  that's  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  but  I  smoke 
it  for  the  old  man's  sake.  He  must  have  made  a 
good  thing  out  of  me,  but  he  always  gave  me 


378  The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows 

clean  mats  and  pillows,  and  the  best  stuff  you 
could  get  anywhere. 

When  he  died,  his  nephew  Tsin-ling  took  up 
the  Gate,  and  he  called  it  the  "Temple  of  the 
Three  Possessions";  but  we  old  ones  speak  of  it 
as  the  "Hundred  Sorrows,"  all  the  same.  The 
nephew  does  things  very  shabbily,  and  I  think 
the  Memsahib  must  help  him.  She  lives  with 
him;  same  as  she  used  to  do  with  the  old  man. 
The  two  let  in  all  sorts  of  low  people,  niggers 
and  all,  and  the  Black  Smoke  isn't  as  good  as  it 
used  to  be.  I've  found  burned  bran  in  my  pipe 
over  and  over  again.  The  old  man  would  have 
died  if  that  had  happened  in  his  time.  Besides, 
the  room  is  never  cleaned,  and  all  the  mats  are 
torn  and  cut  at  the  edges.  The  coffin  is  gone — 
gone  to  China  again — with  the  old  man  and  two 
ounces  of  Smoke  inside  it,  in  case  he  should  want 
'em  on  the  way. 

The  Joss  doesn't  get  so  many  sticks  burned 
under  his  nose  as  he  used  to;  that's  a  sign  of  ill- 
luck,  as  sure  as  Death.  He's  all  brown,  too,  and 
no  one  ever  attends  to  him.  That's  the  Mem- 
sahib's  work,  1  know;  because,  wfien  Tsin-ling 
tried  to  burn  gilt  paper  before  him,  she  said  it 
was  a  waste  of  money,  and.  if  he  kept  a  stick 
burning  very  slowly,  the  Joss  wouldn't  know  the 
difference.  So  now  we've  got  the  sticks  mixed 
with  a  lot  of  glue,  and  they  take  half  an  hour 


The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  379 

longer  to  burn,  and  smell  stinky.  Let  alone  the 
smell  of  the  room  by  itself.  No  business  can  get 
on  if  they  try  that  sort  of  thing.  The  Joss 
doesn't  like  it.  I  can  see  that.  Late  at  night, 
sometimes,  he  turns  all  sorts  of  queer  colors — 
blue  and  green  and  red — just  as  he  used  to  do 
when  old  Fung-Tching  was  alive;  and  he  rolls 
his  eyes  and  stamps  his  feet  like  a  devil. 

I  don't  know  why  I  don't  leave  the  place  and 
smoke  quietly  in  a  little  room  of  my  own  in  the 
bazar.  Most  like,  Tsin-ling  would  kill  me  if  I 
went  away — he  draws  my  sixty  rupees  now — 
and  besides,  it's  so  much  trouble,  and  I've  grown 
to  be  very  fond  of  the  Gate.  It's  not  much  to 
look  at.  Not  what  it  was  in  the  old  man's  time, 
but  I  couldn't  leave  it.  I've  seen  so  many  come 
in  and  out.  And  I've  seen  so  many  die  here  on 
the  mats  that  I  should  be  afraid  of  dying  in  the 
open  now.  I've  seen  some  things  that  people 
would  call  strange  enough;  but  nothing  is 
strange  when  you're  on  the  Black  Smoke,  except 
the  Black  Smoke.  And  if  it  was,  it  wouldn't 
matter.  Fung-Tching  used  to  be  very  particular 
about  his  people,  and  never  got  in  any  one  who'd 
give  trouble  by  dying  messy  and  such.  But  the 
nephew  isn't  half  so  careful.  He  tells  every- 
where that  he  keeps  a  "first-chop"  house. 
Never  tries  to  get  men  in  quietly,  and  make  them 
comfortable  like  Fung-Tching  did.     That's  why 


380  The  Gate  of  the  Him  J  red  Sorrows 

the  Gate  is  getting  a  little  bit  more  known  than 
it  used  to  be.  Among  the  niggers  of  course. 
The  nephew  daren't  get  a  white,  or,  for  matter  of 
that,  a  mixed  skin  into  the  place.  He  has  to 
keep  us  three  of  course — me  and  the  Memsaliib 
and  the  other  Eurasian.  We're  fixtures.  But  he 
wouldn't  give  us  credit  for  a  pipeful — not  for 
anything. 

One  of  these  days,  1  hope,  I  shall  die  in  the 
Gate.  The  Persian  and  the  Madras  man  are  ter- 
ribly shaky  now.  They've  got  a  boy  to  light 
their  pipes  for  them.  I  always  do  that  myself. 
Most  like,  I  shall  see  them  carried  out  before  me. 
I  don't  think  1  shall  ever  outlive  the  Memsaliib  or 
Tsin-ling.  Women  last  longer  than  men  at  the 
Black  Smoke,  and  Tsin-ling  has  a  deal  of  the  old 
man's  blood  in  him,  though  he  does  smoke  cheap 
stuff.  The  bazar-woman  knew  when  she  was 
going  two  days  before  her  time;  and  she  died  on 
a  clean  mat  with  a  nicely  wadded  pillow,  and  the 
old  man  hung  up  her  pipe  just  above  the  Joss. 
He  was  always  fond  of  her,  I  fancy.  But  he 
took  her  bangles  just  the  same. 

I  should  like  to  die  like  the  bazar-woman — on 
a  clean,  cool  mat  with  a  pipe  of  good  stuff  be- 
tween my  lips.  When  I  feel  I'm  going,  I  shall 
ask  Tsin-ling  for  them,  and  he  can  draw  my 
sixty  rupees  a  month,  fresh  and  fresh,  as  long  as 
he  pleases.     Then  I  shall  lie  back,  quiet  and  com- 


The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  381 

fortable,  and  watch  the  black  and  red  dragons 
have  their  last  big  fight  together;  and  then  .  .  . 
Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  Nothing  matters  much 
to  me — only  I  wish  Tsin-ling  wouldn't  put  bran 
into  the  Black  Smoke. 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN 

Who  is  the  happy  man  ?  He  that  sees  in  his  own  house  at 
home,  little  children  crowned  with  dust,  leaping  and  falling  and 
crying. — Munichandra,  translated  by  Professor  Peterson. 

THE  polo-ball  was  an  old  one,  scarred,  chipped, 
and  dinted.  It  stood  on  the  mantelpiece 
among  the  pipe-stems  which  Imam  Din,  hhitmat- 
gar,  was  cleaning  for  me. 

"Does  the  Heaven-born  want  this  ball?"  said 
Imam  Din,  deferentially. 

The  Heaven-born  set  no  particular  store  by  it  ; 
but  of  what  use  was  a  polo-ball  to  a  hhimatgar  ? 

"By  your  Honor's  favor,  I  have  a  little  son. 
He  has  seen  this  ball,  and  desires  it  to  play  with. 
I  do  not  want  it  for  myself." 

No  one  would  for  an  instant  accuse  portly  old 
Imam  Din  of  wanting  to  play  with  polo-balls. 
He  carried  out  the  battered  thing  into  the  veranda ; 
and  there  followed  a  hurricane  of  joyful  squeaks, 
a  patter  of  small  feet,  and  the  thud-thud-thud  of 
the  ball  rolling  along  the  ground.  Evidently  the 
little  son  had  been  waiting  outside  the  door  to 
secure  his  treasure.  But  how  had  he  managed  to 
see  that  polo-ball  ? 

Next  day,  coming  back  from  office  half  an  hour 


386  The   Story   of  Muhammad   Din 

earlier  than  usual,  I  was  aware  of  a  small  figure 
in  the  dining-room — a  tiny,  plump  figure  in  a 
ridiculously  inadequate  shirt  which  came,  per- 
haps, hall-way  down  the  tubby  stomach.  It 
wandered  round  the  room,  thumb  in  mouth, 
crooning  to  itself  as  it  took  stock  of  the  pictures. 
Undoubtedly  this  was  the  "  little  son." 

He  had  no  business  in  my  room,  of  course;  but 
was  so  deeply  absorbed  in  his  discoveries  that  he 
never  noticed  me  in  the  doorway.  I  stepped  into 
the  room  and  startled  him  nearly  into  a  fit  He 
sat  down  on  the  ground  with  a  gasp.  His  eyes 
opened,  and  his  mouth  followed  suit.  I  knew 
what  was  coming,  and  tied,  followed  by  a  long, 
dry  howl  which  reached  the  servants'  quarters 
far  more  quickly  than  any  command  of  mine  had 
ever  done.  In  ten  seconds  Imam  Din  was  in  the 
dining-room.  Then  despairing  sobs  arose,  and  I 
returned  to  find  Imam  Din  admonishing  the  small 
sinner  who  was  using  most  of  his  shirt  as  a  hand- 
kerchief. 

"This  boy,"  said  Imam  Din,  judicially,  "is  a 
budmash — a  big  budmash.  He  will,  without 
doubt,  go  to  the  jail-khana  for  his  behavior." 
Renewed  yells  from  the  penitent,  and  an  elab- 
orate apology  to  myself  from  Imam  Din. 

'•  Tell  the  baby,"  said  I,  "that  the  Sahib  is  not 
angry,  and  take  him  away."  Imam  Din  conveyed 
my  forgiveness  to  the  offender,  who  had  now 


The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din  387 

gathered  all  his  shirt  round  his  neck,  stringwise, 
and  the  yell  subsided  into  a  sob.  The  two  set 
off  for  the  door.  "His  name,"  said  Imam  Din, 
as  though  the  name  were  part  of  the  crime,  "is 
Muhammad  Din,  and  he  is  a  budmash."  Freed 
from  present  danger,  Muhammad  Din  turned 
round  in  his  father's  arms,  and  said  gravely,  "It 
is  true  that  my  name  is  Muhammad  Din,  Tahib, 
but  I  am  not  a  budmash.     I  am  a  man  !  " 

From  that  day  dated  my  acquaintance  with 
Muhammad  Din.  Never  again  did  he  come  into 
my  dining-room,  but  on  the  neutral  ground  of 
the  garden,  we  greeted  each  other  with  much 
state,  though  our  conversation  was  confined  to 
"  Talaam,  Tahib"  from  his  side,  and  "Salaam, 
Muhammad  Din  "  from  mine.  Daily  on  my  re- 
turn from  office,  the  little  white  shirt,  and  the  fat 
little  body  used  to  rise  from  the  shade  of  the 
creeper-covered  trellis  where  they  had  been  hid; 
and  daily  I  checked  my  horse  here,  that  my  salu- 
tation might  not  be  slurred  over  or  given  un- 
seemly. 

Muhammad  Din  never  had  any  companions. 
He  used  to  trot  about  the  compound,  in  and  out 
of  the  castor-oil  bushes,  on  mysterious  errands  of 
his  own.  One  day  I  stumbled  upon  some  of  his 
handiwork  far  down  the  grounds.  He  had  half 
buried  the  polo-ball  in  dust,  and  stuck  six  shriv- 
eled old  marigold  flowers  in  a  circle  round  it 


388  The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din 

Outside  that  circle  again  was  a  rude  square,  traced 
out  in  bits  of  red  brick  alternating  with  fragments 
of  broken  china;  the  whole  bounded  by  a  little 
bank  of  dust.  The  water-man  from  the  well- 
curb  put  in  a  plea  for  the  small  architect,  saying 
that  it  was  only  the  play  of  a  baby  and  did  not 
much  disfigure  my  garden. 

Heaven  knows  that  1  had  no  intention  of  touch- 
ing the  child's  work  then  or  later;  but,  that  even- 
ing, a  stroll  through  the  garden  brought  me  una- 
wares full  on  it;  so  that  1  trampled,  before  1  knew, 
marigold-heads,  dust-bank,  and  fragments  of 
broken  soap-dish  into  confusion  past  all  hope  of 
mending.  Next  morning,  I  came  upon  Muham- 
mad Din  crying  softly  to  himself  over  the  ruin  I 
had  wrought.  Some  one  had  cruelly  told  him 
that  the  Sahib  was  very  angry  with  him  for  spoil- 
ing the  garden,  and  had  scattered  his  rubbish, 
using  bad  language  the  while.  Muhammad  Din 
labored  for  an  hour  at  effacing  every  trace  of  the 
dust-bank  and  pottery  fragments,  and  it  was  with 
a  tearful  and  apologetic  face  that  he  said  "  Talaam, 
Tahib,"  when  !  came  home  from  office.  A  hasty 
inquiry  resulted  in  Imam  Din  informing  Muham- 
mad Din  that,  by  my  singular  favor,  he  was  per- 
mitted to  disport  himself  as  he  pleased.  Whereat 
the  child  took  heart  and  fell  to  tracing  the  ground- 
plan  of  an  edifice  which  was  to  eclipse  the  mari- 
gold-polo-ball creation. 


The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din  389 

For  some  months,  the  chubby  little  eccentricity 
revolved  in  his  humble  orbit  among  the  castor- 
oil  bushes  and  in  the  dust;  always  fashioning 
magnificent  palaces  from  stale  flowers  thrown 
away  by  the  bearer,  smooth  water-worn  pebbles, 
bits  of  broken  glass,  and  feathers  pulled,  I  fancy, 
from  my  fowls — always  alone,  and  always 
crooning  to  himself. 

A  gaily-spotted  sea-shell  was  dropped  one  day 
close  to  the  last  of  his  little  buildings;  and  I 
looked  that  Muhammad  Din  should  build  some- 
thing more  than  ordinarily  splendid  on  the 
strength  of  it.  Nor  was  I  disappointed.  He 
meditated  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour,  and  his 
crooning  rose  to  a  jubilant  song.  Then  he  began 
tracing  in  the  dust.  It  would  certainly  be  a 
wondrous  palace,  this  one,  for  it  was  two  yards 
long  and  a  yard  broad  in  ground-plan.  But  the 
palace  was  never  completed. 

Next  day  there  was  no  Muhammad  Din  at  the 
head  of  the  carriage-drive,  and  no  "  Talaam, 
Tahib"  to  welcome  my  return.  I  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  greeting,  and  its  omission 
troubled  me.  Next  day  Imam  Din  told  me  that 
the  child  was  suffering  slightly  from  fever  and 
needed  quinine.  He  got  the  medicine,  and  an 
English  Doctor. 

"They  have  no  stamina,  these  brats,"  said  the 
Doctor,  as  he  left  Imam  Din's  quarters. 


390  The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din 

A  week  later,  though  I  would  have  given  much 
to  have  avoided  it,  1  met  on  the  road  to  the 
Mussulman  burying-ground  Imam  Din,  accom- 
panied by  one  other  friend,  carrying  in  his  arms, 
wrapped  in  a  white  cloth,  all  that  was  left  of 
little  Muhammad  Din. 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS 


ON   THE   STRENGTH   OF  A 
LIKENESS 

If  your  mirror  be  broken,  look  into  still  water ;  but  have  a 
care  that  you  do  not  fall  in. — Hindu  Proverb. 

NEXT  to  a  requited  attachment,  one  of  the 
most  convenient  things  that  a  young  man 
can  carry  about  with  him  at  the  beginning  of  his 
career,  is  an  unrequited  attachment.  It  makes 
him  feel  important  and  business-like,  and  blase, 
and  cynical ;  and  whenever  he  has  a  touch  of  liver, 
or  suffers  from  want  of  exercise,  he  can  mourn 
over  his  lost  love,  and  be  very  happy  in  a  tender, 
twilight  fashion. 

Hannasyde's  affair  of  the  heart  had  been  a  god- 
send to  him.  It  was  four  years  old,  and  the  girl 
had  long  since  given  up  thinking  of  it.  She  had 
married  and  had  many  cares  of  her  own.  In  the 
beginning,  she  had  told  Hannasyde  that,  "while 
she  could  never  be  anything  more  than  a  sister 
to  him,  she  would  always  take  the  deepest  inter- 
est in  his  welfare."  This  startlingly  new  and 
original  remark  gave  Hannasyde  something  to 
think  over  for  two  years;  and  his  own  vanity 
filled  in  the  other  twenty-four  months.  Hanna- 
syde was  quite  different  from  Phil  Garron,  but. 

393 


394  On  the  Strength  of  a   Likeness 

none  the  less,  had  several  points  in  common  with 
that  far  too  lucky  man. 

He  kept  his  unrequited  attachment  by  him  as 
men  keep  a  well-smoked  pipe — for  comfort's 
sake,  and  because  it  had  grown  dear  in  the 
using.  It  brought  him  happily  through  one 
Simla  season.  Hannasyde  was  not  lovely. 
There  was  a  crudity  in  his  manners,  and  a 
roughness  in  the  way  in  which  he  helped  a  lady 
on  to  her  horse,  that  did  not  attract  the  other  sex 
to  him.  Even  if  he  had  cast  about  for  their 
favor,  which  he  did  not.  He  kept  his  wounded 
heart  all  to  himself  for  a  while. 

Then  trouble  came  to  him.  All  who  go  to 
Simla  know  the  slope  from  the  Telegraph  to  the 
Public  Works  Office.  Hannasyde  was  loafing  up 
the  hill,  one  September  morning  between  calling 
hours,  when  a  rickshaw  came  down  in  a  hurry, 
and  in  the  'rickshaw  sat  the  living,  breathing 
image  of  the  girl  who  had  made  him  so  happily 
unhappy.  Hannasyde  leaned  against  the  railings 
and  gasped.  He  wanted  to  run  downhill  after 
the  'rickshaw,  but  that  was  impossible;  so  he 
went  forward  with  most  of  his  blood  in  his  tem- 
ples. It  was  impossible,  for  many  reasons,  that 
the  woman  in  the  'rickshaw  could  be  the  girl  he 
had  known.  She  was,  he  discovered  later,  the 
wife  of  a  man  from  Dindigul,  or  Coimbatore,  or 
some  out-of-the-way    place,  and   she   had  come 


On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness  395 

up  to  Simla  early  in  the  season  for  the  good  of 
her  health.  She  was  going  back  to  Dindigul,  or 
wherever  it  was,  at  the  end  of  the  season;  and  in 
all  likelihood  would  never  return  to  Simla  again; 
her  proper  Hill-station  being  Ootacamund.  That 
night  Hannasyde,  raw  and  savage  from  the  rak- 
ing up  of  all  old  feelings,  took  counsel  with  him- 
self for  one  measured  hour.  What  he  decided 
upon  was  this;  and  you  must  decide  for  yourself 
how  much  genuine  affection  for  the  old  Love, 
and  how  much  a  very  natural  inclination  to  go 
abroad  and  enjoy  himself,  affected  the  decision. 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  would  never  in  all  human 
likelihood  cross  his  path  again.  So  whatever  he 
did  didn't  much  matter.  She  was  marvelously 
like. the  girl  who  "took  a  deep  interest"  and  the 
rest  of  the  formula.  All  things  considered,  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and  for  a  little  time — only 
a  very  little  time — to  make  believe  that  he  was 
with  Alice  Chisane  again.  Every  one  is  more  or 
less  mad  on  one  point.  Hannasyde's  particular 
monomania  was  his  old  love,  Alice  Chisane. 

He  made  it  his  business  to  get  introduced  to 
Mrs.  Haggert,  and  the  '  introduction  prospered. 
He  also  made  it  his  business  to  see  as  much  as  he 
could  of  that  lady.  When  a  man  is  in  earnest  as 
to  interviews,  the  facilities  which  Simla  offers  are 
startling.     There  are  garden-parties,  and  tennis- 


396  On  the  Strength   of  a  Likeness 

parties,  and  picnics,  and  luncheons  at  Annandale, 
and  rifle-matches,  and  dinners  and  balls;  besides 
rides  and  walks,  which  are  matters  of  private  ar- 
rangement Hannasyde  had  started  with  the  in- 
tention of  seeing  a  likeness,  and  he  ended  by 
doing  much  more.  He  wanted  to  be  deceived , 
he  meant  to  be  deceived,  and  he  deceived  himself 
very  thoroughly.  Not  only  were  the  face  and 
figure  the  face  and  figure  of  Alice  Chisane,  but 
the  voice  and  lower  tones  were  exactly  the  same, 
and  so  were  the  turns  of  speech;  and  the  little 
mannerisms,  that  every  woman  has,  of  gait  and 
gesticulation,  were  absolutely  and  identically  the 
same.  The  turn  of  the  head  was  the  same;  the 
tired  look  in  the  eyes  at  the  end  of  a  long  walk 
was  the  same;  the  stoop-and-wrench  over  the 
saddle  to  hold  in  a  pulling  horse  was  the  same; 
and  once,  most  marvelous  of  all,  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert  singing  to  herself  in  the  next  room, 
while  Hannasyde  was  waiting  to  take  her  for  a 
ride,  hummed,  note  for  note,  with  a  throaty 
quiver  of  the  voice  in  the  second  line,  "Poor 
Wandering  One!"  exactly  as  Alice  Chisane  had 
hummed  it  for  Hannasyde  in  the  dusk  of  an 
English  drawing-room.  In  the  actual  woman 
herself — in  the  soul  of  her — there  was  not  the 
least  likeness;  she  and  Alice  Chisane  being  cast 
in  different  moulds.  But  all  that  Hannasyde 
wanted  to  know  and   set'  and  think  about,  was 


On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness  397 

this  maddening  and  perplexing  likeness  of  face 
and  voice  and  manner.  He  was  bent  on  making 
a  fool  of  himself  that  way;  and  he  was  in  no 
sort  disappointed. 

Open  and  obvious  devotion  from  any  sort  of 
man  is  always  pleasant  to  any  sort  of  woman; 
but  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  being  a  woman  of  the 
world,  could  make  nothing  of  Hannasyde's  ad- 
miration. 

He  would  take  any  amount  of  trouble — he  was 
a  selfish  man  habitually — to  meet  and  forestall,  if 
possible,  her  wishes.  Anything  she  told  him  to 
do  was  law;  and  he  was,  there  could  be  no 
doubting  it,  fond  of  her  company  so  long  as  she 
talked  to  him.  and  kept  on  talking  about  triviali- 
ties. But  when  she  launched  into  expression  of 
her  personal  views  and  her  wrongs,  those  small 
social  differences  that  make  the  spice  of  Simla 
life,  Hannasyde  was  neither  pleased  nor  inter- 
ested. He  didn't  want  to  know  anything  about 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  or  her  experiences  in  the 
past — she  had  traveled  nearly  all  over  the  world, 
and  could  talk  cleverly — he  wanted  the  likeness 
of  Alice  Chisane  before  his  eyes  and  her  voice  in 
his  ears.  Anything  outside  that,  reminding  him 
of  another  personality,  jarred,  and  he  showed 
that  it  did. 

Under  the  new  Post  Office,  one  evening,  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert  turned  on  him,  and  spoke  her 


J98  On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness 

mind  shortly  and  without  warning.  "Mr. 
Hannasyde,"  said  she,  "  will  you  be  good  enough 
to  explain  wny  you  have  appointed  yourself  my 
special  cavalier  scrvente?  I  don't  understand  it. 
But  I  am  perfectly  certain,  somehow  or  other, 
that  you  don't  care  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world 
for  me."  This  seems  to  support,  by  the  way,  the 
theory  that  no  man  can  act  or  tell  lies  to  a  woman 
without  being  found  out.  Hannasyde  was  taken 
off  his  guard.  His  defence  never  was  a  strong 
one,  because  he  was  always  thinking  of  himself, 
and  he  blurted  out,  before  he  knew  what  he  was 
saying,  this  inexpedient  answer,  "  No  more  I  do." 

The  queerness  of  the  situation  and  the  reply, 
made  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  laugh.  Then  it  all 
came  out;  and  at  the  end  of  Hannasyde's  lucid 
explanation  Mrs.  Haggert  said,  with  the  least  lit- 
tle touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice,  "So  I'm  to  act  as 
the  lay-figure  for  you  to  hang  the  rags  of  your 
tattered  affections  on,  am  I  ?" 

Hannasyde  didn't  see  what  answer  was  re- 
quired, and  he  devoted  himself  generally  and 
vaguely  to  the  praise  of  Alice  Chisane,  which 
was  unsatisfactory.  Now  it  is  to  be  thoroughly 
made  clear  that  Mrs.  Haggert  had  not  the  shadow 
of  a  ghost  of  an  interest  in  Hannasyde.  Only 
.  .  .  only  no  woman  likes  being  made  love 
through  instead  of  to — specially  on  behalf  of  a 
musty  divinity  of  four  years'  standing. 


On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness  399 

Hannasyde  did  not  see  that  he  had  made  any 
very  particular  exhibition  of  himself.  He  was 
glad  to  find  a  sympathetic  soul  in  the  arid  wastes 
of  Simla. 

When  the  season  ended,  Hannasyde  went 
down  to  his  own  place  and  Mrs.  Haggert  to  hers. 
"  It  was  like  making  love  to  a  ghost,"  said  Han- 
nasyde to  himself,  "and  it  doesn't  matter;  and 
now  I'll  get  to  my  work."  But  he  found  himself 
thinking  steadily  of  the  Haggert-Chisane  ghost; 
and  he  could  not  be  certain  whether  it  was  Hag- 
gert or  Chisane  that  made  up  the  greater  part  of 
the  pretty  phantom. 


He  got  understanding  a  month  later. 

A  peculiar  point  of  this  peculiar  country  is  the 
way  in  which  a  heartless  Government  transfers 
men  from  one  end  of  the  Empire  to  the  other. 
You  can  never  be  sure  of  getting  rid  of  a  friend 
or  an  enemy  till  he  or  she  dies.  There  was  a 
case  once — but  that's  another  story. 

Haggert's  Department  ordered  him  up  from 
Dindigul  to  the  Frontier  at  two  days'  notice,  and 
he  went  through,  losing  money  at  every  step, 
from  Dindigul  to  his  station.  He  dropped  Mrs. 
Haggert  at  Lucknow,  to  stay  with  some  friends 
there,  to  take  part  in  a  big  ball  at  the  Chutter 
Munzil,  and  to  come  on  when  he  had  made  the 


4<x>  On  the  Strength   of  a  Likeness 

new  home  a  little  comfortable.  Lucknow  was 
Hannasyde's  station,  and  Mrs.  Haggert  stayed  a 
week  there.  Hannasyde  went  to  meet  her.  As 
the  train  came  in,  he  discovered  what  he  had  been 
thinking  of  for  the  past  month.  The  unwisdom 
of  his  conduct  also  struck  him.  The  Lucknow 
week,  with  two  dances,  and  an  unlimited  quan- 
tity of  rides  together,  clinched  matters;  and 
Hannasyde  found  himself  pacing  this  circle  of 
thought: — He  adored  Alice  Chisane,  at  least  he 
had  adored  her.  And  he  admired  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert  because  she  was  like  Alice  Chisane. 
But  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  was  not  in  the  least 
like  Alice  Chisane,  being  a  thousand  times  more 
adorable.  Now  Alice  Chisane  was  "  the  bride  of 
another,"  and  so  was  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and 
a  good  and  honest  wife  too.  Therefore  he,  Han- 
nasyde, was  .  .  .  here  he  called  himself 
several  hard  names,  and  wished  that  he  had  been 
wise  in  the  beginning. 

Whether  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  saw  what  was 
going  on  in  his  mind,  she  alone  knows.  He 
seemed  to  take  an  unqualified  interest  in  every- 
thing connected  with  herself,  as  distinguished 
from  the  Alice-Chisane  likeness,  and  he  said  one 
or  two  things  which,  if  Alice  Chisane  had  been 
still  betrothed  to  him,  could  scarcely  have  been 
excused,  even  on  the  grounds  of  the  likeness. 
But  Mrs.  Haggert  turned  the  remarks  aside,  and 


On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness  401 

spent  a  long  time  in  making  Hannasyde  see  what 
a  comfort  and  a  pleasure  she  had  been  to  him  be- 
cause of  her  strange  resemblance  to  his  old  love. 
Hannasyde  groaned  in  his  saddle  and  said,  "Yes, 
indeed,"  and  busied  himself  with  preparations 
for  her  departure  to  the  Frontier,  feeling  very 
small  and  miserable. 

The  last  day  of  her  stay  at  Lucknow  came,  and 
Hannasyde  saw  her  off  at  the  Railway  Station. 
She  was  very  grateful  for  his  kindness  and  the 
trouble  he  had  taken,  and  smiled  pleasantly  and 
sympathetically  as  one  who  knew  the  Alice- 
Chisane  reason  of  that  kindness.  And  Hannasyde 
abused  the  coolies  with  the  luggage,  and  hustled 
the  people  on  the  platform,  and  prayed  that  the 
roof  might  fall  in  and  slay  him. 

As  the  train  went  out  slowly,  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert  leaned  out  of  the  window  to  say  good- 
bye— "On  second  thoughts  au  revoir,  Mr.  Han- 
nasyde. I  go  Home  in  the  Spring,  and  perhaps  I 
may  meet  you  in  Town." 

Hannasyde  shook  hands,  and  said  very  ear- 
nestly and  adoringly-—"  I  hope  to  Heaven  I  shall 
never  see  your  face  again!  " 

And  Mrs.  Haggeri  understood. 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN 
OFFICE 

I  closed  and  drew  for  my  Love's  sake, 

That  now  is  false  to  me, 
And  I  slew  the  Riever  of  Tarrant  Moss, 

And  set  Dumeny  free. 

And  ever  they  give  me  praise  and  gold, 

And  ever  I  moan  my  loss ; 
For  I  struck  the  blow  for  my  false  Love's  sake, 

And  not  for  the  men  of  the  Moss ! 

—  Tarrant  Moss. 

ONE  of  the  many  curses  of  our  life  in  India  is 
the  want  of  atmosphere  in  the  painter's 
sense.  There  are  no  half-tints  worth  noticing. 
Men  stand  out  all  crude  and  raw,  with  nothing  to 
tone  them  down,  and  nothing  to  scale  them 
against.  They  do  their  work,  and  grow  to  think 
that  there  is  nothing  but  their  work,  and  nothing 
like  their  work,  and  that  they  are  the  real  pivots 
on  which  the  Administration  turns.  Here  is  an 
instance  of  this  feeling.  A  half-caste  clerk  was 
ruling  forms  in  a  Pay  Office.  He  said  to  me, 
"Do  you  know  what  would  happen  if  I  added 
or  took  away  one  single  line  on  this  sheet?" 

405 


406  U'ress/ey  of  the  Foreign   Office 

Then,  with  the  air  of  a  conspirator,  "  It  would 
disorganize  the  whole  of  the  Treasury  payments 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  Presidency  Circle! 
Think  of  that!" 

If  men  had  not  this  delusion  as  to  the  ultra- 
importance  of  their  own  particular  employments, 
I  suppose  that  they  would  sit  down  and  kill 
themselves.  But  their  weakness  is  wearisome, 
particularly  when  the  listener  knows  that  he  him- 
self commits  exactly  the  same  sin. 

Even  the  Secretariat  believes  that  it  does  good 
when  it  asks  an  over-driven  Executive  Officer  to 
take  a  census  of  wheat-weevils  through  a  district 
of  five  thousand  square  miles. 

There  was  a  man  once  in  the  Foreign  Office — a 
man  who  had  grown  middle-aged  in  the  Depart- 
ment, and  was  commonly  said,  by  irreverent 
juniors,  to  be  able  to  repeat  Aitchison's  Treaties 
and  Sunnuels  backward  in  his  sleep.  What  he 
did  with  his  stored  knowledge  only  the  Secretary 
knew;  and  he,  naturally,  would  not  publish  the 
news  abroad.  This  man's  name  was  Wressley, 
and  it  was  the  Shibboleth,  in  those  days,  to  say 
— "Wressley  knows  more  about  the  Central 
Indian  States  than  any  living  man."  If  you  did 
not  say  this,  you  were  considered  one  of  mean 
understanding. 

Nowadays,  the  man  who  says  that  he  knows 
the  ravel  of  the  inter-tribal  complications  across 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  407 

the  Border  is  more  of  use;  but,  in  Wressley's 
time,  much  attention  was  paid  to  the  Central 
Indian  States.  They  were  called  "foci"  and 
"factors,"  and  all  manner  of  imposing  names. 

And  here  the  curse  of  Anglo-Indian  life  fell 
heavily.  When  Wressley  lifted  up  his  voice,  and 
spoke  about  such-and-such  a  succession  to  such- 
and-such  a  throne,  the  Foreign  Office  were  silent, 
and  Heads  of  Departments  repeated  the  last  two 
or  three  words  of  Wressley's  sentences,  and 
tacked  "yes,  yes,"  on  to  them,  and  knew  that 
they  were  assisting  the  Empire  to  grapple  with 
serious  political  contingencies.  In  most  big  un- 
dertakings, one  or  two  men  do  the  work  while 
the  rest  sit  near  and  talk  till  the  ripe  decorations 
begin  to  fall. 

Wressley  was  the  working-member  of  the 
Foreign  Office  firm,  and,  to  keep  him  up  to  his 
duties  when  he  showed  signs  of  flagging,  he 
was  made  much  of  by  his  superiors  and  told 
what  a  fine  fellow  he  was.  He  did  not  require 
coaxing,  because  he  was  of  tough  build,  but 
what  he  received  confirmed  him  in  the  belief 
that  there  was  no  one  quite  so  absolutely  and 
imperatively  necessary  to  the  stability  of  India  as 
Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office.  There  might 
be  other  good  men,  but  the  known,  honored  and 
trusted  man  among  men  was  Wressley  of  the 
Foreign  Office.    We  had  a  Viceroy  in  those  days 


408  Wressley  of  the  Foreign   Office 

who  knew  exactly  when  to  "gentle  "  a  fractious 
big  man,  and  to  hearten-up  a  collar-galled  little 
one,  and  so  keep  all  his  team  level.  He  con- 
veyed to  Wressley  the  impression  which  1  have 
just  set  down;  and  even  tough  men  are  apt  to 
be  disorganized  by  a  Viceroy's  praise.  There 
was  a  case  once — but  that  is  another  story. 

All  India  knew  Wressley's  name  and  office — it 
was  in  Thacker  and  Spink's  Directory — but  who 
he  was  personally,  or  what  he  did,  or  what  his 
special  merits  were,  not  fifty  men  knew  or  cared. 
His  work  filled  all  his  time,  and  he  found  no 
leisure  to  cultivate  acquaintances  beyond  those 
of  dead  Rajput  chiefs  with  Ahir  blots  in  their 
scutcheons.  Wressley  would  have  made  a  very 
good  Clerk  in  the  Herald's  College  had  he  not 
been  a  Bengal  Civilian. 

Upon  a  day,  between  office  and  office,  great 
trouble  came  to  Wressley — overwhelmed  him, 
knocked  him  down,  and  left  him  gasping  as 
though  he  had  been  a  little  schoolboy.  With- 
out reason,  against  prudence,  and  at  a  moment's 
notice,  he  fell  in  love  with  a  frivolous,  golden- 
haired  girl  who  used  to  tear  about  Simla  Mall  on 
a  high,  rough  waler,  with  a  blue  velvet  jockey- 
cap  crammed  over  her  eyes.  Her  name  was 
Venner — Tillie  Venner — and  she  was  delightful. 
She  took  Wressley's  heart  at  a  hand-gallop,  and 
Wressley  found  that  it  was  not  good   for  man 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  409 

to  live  alone;  even  with  half  the  Foreign  Office 
Records  in  his  presses. 

Then  Simla  laughed,  for  Wressley  in  love  was 
slightly  ridiculous.  He  did  his  best  to  interest 
the  girl  in  himself — that  is  to  say,  his  work — and 
she,  after  the  manner  of  women,  did  her  best  to 
appear  interested  in  what,  behind  his  back,  she 
called  "Mr.  W'essley's  Wajahs";  for  she  lisped 
very  prettily.  She  did  not  understand  one  little 
thing  about  them,  but  she  acted  as  if  she  did. 
Men  have  married  on  that  sort  of  error  before 
now. 

Providence,  however,  had  care  of  Wressley. 
He  was  immensely  struck  with  Miss  Venner's 
intelligence.  He  would  have  been  more  im- 
pressed had  he  heard  her  private  and  confidential 
accounts  of  his  calls.  He  held  peculiar  notions 
as  to  the  wooing  of  girls.  He  said  that  the  best 
work  of  a  man's  career  should  be  laid  reverently 
at  their  feet.  Ruskin  writes  something  like  this 
somewhere,  I  think;  but  in  ordinary  life  a  few 
kisses  are  better  and  save  time. 

About  a  month  after  he  had  lost  his  heart  to 
Miss  Venner,  and  had  been  doing  his  work  vilely 
in  consequence,  the  first  idea  of  his  Native  Rule 
in  Central  India  struck  Wressley  and  filled  him 
with  joy.  It  was,  as  he  sketched  it,  a  great  thing 
— the  work  of  his  life — a  really  comprehensive 
survey  of  a  most  fascinating  subject — to  be  writ- 


410  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office 

ten  with  all  the  special  and  laboriously  acquired 
knowledge  of  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office — a 
gift  fit  for  an  Empress. 

He  told  Miss  Venner  that  he  was  going  to  take 
leave,  and  hoped,  on  his  return,  to  bring  her  a 
present  worthy  of  her  acceptance.  Would  she 
wait  ?  Certainly  she  would.  Wressley  drew 
seventeen  hundred  rupees  a  month.  She  would 
wait  a  year  for  that.  Her  Mamma  would  help 
her  to  wait. 

So  Wressley  took  one  year's  leave  and  all  the 
available  documents,  about  a  truck-load,  that  he 
could  lay  hands  on,  and  went  down  to  Central 
India  with  his  notion  hot  in  his  head.  He  began 
his  book  in  the  land  he  was  writing  of.  Too 
much  official  correspondence  had  made  him  a 
frigid  workman,  and  he  must  have  guessed  that 
he  needed  the  white  light  of  local  color  on  his 
palette.  This  is  a  dangerous  paint  for  amateurs 
to  play  with. 

Heavens,  how  that  man  worked!  He  caught 
his  Rajahs,  analyzed  his  Rajahs,  and  traced  them 
up  into  the  mists  of  Time  and  beyond,  with  their 
queens  and  their  concubines.  He  dated  and  cross- 
dated,  pedigreed  and  triple-pedigreed,  compared, 
noted,  connoted,  wove,  strung,  sorted,  selected, 
inferred,  calendared  and  counter-calendared  for 
ten  hours  a  day.  And,  because  this  sudden  and 
new  light  of  Love  was  upon  him,  he  turned  those 


IVressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  411 

dry  bones  of  history  and  dirty  records  of  mis- 
deeds into  things  to  weep  or  to  laugh  over  as  he 
pleased.  His  heart  and  soul  were  at  the  end  of 
his  pen,  and  they  got  into  the  ink.  He  was 
dowered  with  sympathy,  insight,  humor,  and 
style  for  two  hundred  and  thirty  days  and 
nights;  and  his  book  was  a  Book.  He  had  his 
vast  special  knowledge  with  him,  so  to  speak; 
but  the  spirit,  the  woven-in  human  Touch,  the 
poetry  and  the  power  of  the  output,  were  be- 
yond all  special  knowledge.  But  I  doubt  whether 
he  knew  the  gift  that  was  in  him  then,  and  thus 
he  may  have  lost  some  happiness.  He  was  toil- 
ing for  Tillie  Venner,  not  for  himself.  Men  often 
do  their  best  work  blind,  for  some  one  else's 
sake. 

Also,  though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
story,  in  India  where  every  one  knows  every  one 
else,  you  can  watch  men  being  driven,  by  the 
women  who  govern  them,  out  of  the  rank-and- 
file  and  sent  to  take  up  points  alone.  A  good 
man,  once  started,  goes  forward;  but  an  average 
man,  so  soon  as  the  woman  loses  interest  in  his 
success  as  a  tribute  to  her  power,  comes  back  to 
the  battalion  and  is  no  more  heard  of. 

Wressley  bore  the  first  copy  of  his  book  to 
Simla,  and,  blushing  and  stammering,  presented 
it  to  Miss  Venner.  She  read  a  little  of  it.  I  give 
her  review  verbatim — "Oh  your  book?    It's  all 


4i2  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  0 

about   those  howwid  Wajahs.     I   didn't  under- 
stand it." 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  was  broken, 
smashed, — I  am  not  exaggerating — by  this  one 
frivolous  little  girl.  All  that  he  could  say  feebly 
was — "But — but  it's  my  magnum  opus!  The 
work  of  my  life."  Miss  Venner  did  not  know 
what  magnum  opus  meant;  but  she  knew  that 
Captain  Kerrington  had  won  three  races  at  the 
last  Gymkhana.  Wressley  didn't  press  her  to 
wait  for  him  any  longer.  He  had  sense  enough 
for  that. 

Then  came  the  reaction  after  the  year's  strain, 
and  Wressley  went  back  to  the  Foreign  Office  and 
his  "  Wajahs,"  a  compiling,  gazetteering,  report- 
writing  hack,  who  would  have  been  dear  at  three 
hundred  rupees  a  month.  He  abided  by  Miss  Ven- 
ner's  review.  Which  proves  that  the  inspiration 
in  the  book  was  purely  temporary  and  uncon- 
nected with  himself.  Nevertheless,  he  had  no 
right  to  sink,  in  a  hill-tarn,  five  packing-cases, 
brought  up  at  enormous  expense  from  Bombay, 
of  the  best  book  of  Indian  history  ever  written. 

When  he  sold  off  before  retiring,  some  years 
later,  I  was  turning  over  his  shelves,  and  came 
across  the  only  existing  copy  of  Native  Rule  in 
Central  India — the  copy  that  Miss  Venner  could 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  413 

not  understand.  I  read  it,  sitting  on  his  mule- 
trunks,  as  long  as  the  light  lasted,  and  offered 
him  his  own  price  for  it.  He  looked  over  my 
shoulder  for  a  few  pages  and  said  to  himself 
drearily  — 

"Now,  how  in  the  world  did  I  come  to  write 
such  damned  good  stuff  as  that?" 

Then  to  me  — 

"Take  it  and  keep  it.  Write  one  of  your 
penny-farthing  yarns  about  its  birth.  Perhaps — 
perhaps — the  whole  business  may  have  been  or- 
dained to  that  end." 

Which,  knowing  what  Wressley  of  the  For- 
eign Office  was  once,  struck  me  as  about  the  bit- 
terest thing  that  I  had  ever  heard  a  man  say  of 
his  own  work. 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 

Not  though  you  die  to-night,  O  Sweet,  and  wail, 

A  spectre  at  my  door, 
Shall  mortal  Fear  make  Love  immortal  fail  — 

I  shall  but  love  you  more, 
Who,  from  Death's  house  returning,  give  me  still 
One  moment's  comfort  in  my  matchless  ill. 

— Shadow  Houses. 

THIS  tale  may  be  explained  by  those  who 
know  how  souls  are  made,  and  where  the 
bounds  of  the  Possible  are  put  down.  1  have 
lived  long  enough  in  this  India  to  know  that  it  is 
best  to  know  nothing,  and  can  only  write  the 
story  as  it  happened. 

Dumoise  was  our  Civil  Surgeon  at  Meridki, 
and  we  called  him  "Dormouse,"  because  he  was 
a  round  little,  sleepy  little  man.  He  was  a  good 
Doctor  and  never  quarreled  with  any  one,  not 
even  with  our  Deputy  Commissioner  who  had 
the  manners  of  a  bargee  and  the  tact  of  a  horse. 
He  married  a  girl  as  round  and  as  sleepy-looking 
as  himself.  She  was  a  Miss  Hillardyce,  daughter 
of  "  Squash  "  Hillardyce  of  the  Berars,  who  mar- 
ried his  Chief's  daughter  by  mistake.  But  that  is 
another  story. 

417 


418  By  Word  of  Mouth 

A  honeymoon  in  India  is  seldom  more  than  a 
week  long;  but  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  a 
couple  from  extending  it  over  two  or  three 
years.  India  is  a  delightful  country  for  married 
folk  who  are  wrapped  up  in  one  another.  They 
can  live  absolutely  alone  and  without  interrup- 
tion— just  as  the  Dormice  did.  Those  two  little 
people  retired  from  the  world  after  their  mar- 
riage, and  were  very  happy.  They  were  forced, 
of  course,  to  give  occasional  dinners,  but  they 
made  no  friends  thereby,  and  the  Station  went 
its  own  way  and  forgot  them;  only  saying,  oc- 
casionally, that  Dormouse  was  the  best  of  good 
fellows  though  dull.  A  Civil  Surgeon  who  never 
quarrels  is  a  rarity,  appreciated  as  such. 

Few  people  can  afford  to  play  Robinson  Cru- 
soe anywhere— least  of  all  in  India,  where  we 
are  few  in  the  land  and  very  much  dependent  on 
each  other's  kind  offices.  Dumoise  was  wrong 
in  shutting  himself  from  the  world  for  a  year, 
and  he  discovered  his  mistake  when  an  epidemic 
of  typhoid  broke  out  in  the  Station  in  the  heart 
of  the  cold  weather,  and  his  wife  went  down. 
He  was  a  shy  little  man,  and  five  days  were 
wasted  before  he  realized  that  Mrs.  Dumoise 
was  burning  with  something  worse  than  simple 
fever,  and  three  days  more  passed  before  he 
ventured  to  call  on  Mrs.  Shute,  the  Engineer's 
wife,   and    timidly    speak    about    his    trouble. 


By  Word  of  Mouth  4 '9 

Nearly  every  household  in  India  knows  that  Doc- 
tors are  very  helpless  in  typhoid.  The  battle 
must  be  fought  out  between  Death  and  the 
Nurses  minute  by  minute  and  degree  by  degree. 
Mrs.  Shute  almost  boxed  Dumoise's  ears  for 
what  she  called  his  "  criminal  delay,"  and  went  off 
at  once  to  look  after  the  poor  girl.  We  had  seven 
cases  of  typhoid  in  the  Station  that  winter  and, 
as  the  average  of  death  is  about  one  in  every  five 
cases,  we  felt  certain  that  we  should  have  to  lose 
somebody.  But  all  did  their  best.  The  women 
sat  up  nursing  the  women,  and  the  men  turned 
to  and  tended  the  bachelors  who  were  down, 
and  we  wrestled  with  those  typhoid  cases  for 
fifty-six  days,  and  brought  them  through  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow  in  triumph.  But,  just 
when  we  thought  all  was  over,  and  were  going 
to  give  a  dance  to  celebrate  the  victory,  little  Mrs. 
Dumoise  got  a  relapse  and  died  in  a  week  and 
the  Station  went  to  the  funeral.  Dumoise  broke 
down  utterly  at  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  had 
to  be  taken  away. 

After  the  death,  Dumoise  crept  into  his  own 
house  and  refused  to  be  comforted.  He  did  his 
duties  perfectly,  but  we  all  felt  that  he  should  go 
on  leave,  and  the  other  men  of  his  own  Service 
told  him  so.  Dumoise  was  very  thankful  for 
the  suggestion— he  was  thankful  for  anything  in 
those   days— and  went  to  Chini  on  a  walking- 


420  By  Word  of  Mouth 

tour.  Chini  is  some  twenty  marches  from  Simla, 
in  the  heart  of  the  Hills,  and  the  scenery  is  good 
if  you  are  in  trouble.  You  pass  through  big,  still 
deodar-forests,  and  under  big,  still  cliffs,  and 
over  big,  still  grass-downs  swelling  like  a  wom- 
an's breasts;  and  the  wind  across  the  grass,  and 
the  rain  among  the  deodars  says — "  Hush — hush 
— hush."  So  little  Dumoise  was  packed  off  to 
Chini,  to  wear  down  his  grief  with  a  full-plate 
camera  and  a  rifle.  He  took  also  a  useless 
bearer,  because  the  man  had  been  his  wife's  fa- 
vorite servant.  He  was  idle  and  a  thief,  but  Du- 
moise trusted  everything  to  him. 

On  his  way  back  from  Chini,  Dumoise  turned 
aside  to  Bagi,  through  the  Forest  Reserve  which 
is  on  the  spur  of  Mount  Huttoo.  Some  men 
who  have  traveled  more  than  a  little  say  that  the 
march  from  Kotegarh  to  Bagi  is  one  of  the  finest 
in  creation.  It  runs  through  dark  wet  forest,  and 
ends  suddenly  in  bleak,  nipped  hillside  and 
black  rocks.  Bagi  dak-bungalow  is  open  to  all 
the  winds  and  is  bitterly  cold.  Few  people  go 
to  Bagi.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why  Du- 
moise went  there.  He  halted  at  seven  in  the 
evening,  and  his  bearer  went  down  the  hillside 
to  the  village  to  engage  coolies  for  the  next  day's 
march.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the  night-winds 
were  beginning  to  croon  among  the  rocks.  Du- 
moise leaned  on  the  railing  of  the  veranda,  wait- 


copyright,  1899,  by  H.  M.  Caldwell  Co. 

"  He  raced  to  the  veranda  and  fell  down.' 


By  Word  of  Mouth         •  421 

ing  for  his  bearer  to  return.  The  man  came  back 
almost  immediately  after  he  had  disappeared,  and 
at  such  a  rate  that  Dumoise  fancied  he  must  have 
crossed  a  bear.  He  was  running  as  hard  as  he 
could  up  the  face  of  the  hill. 

But  there  was  no  bear  to  account  for  his  terror. 
He  raced  to  the  veranda  and  fell  down,  the  blood 
spurting  from  his  nose  and  his  face  iron-grey. 
Then  he  gurgled— "I  have  seen  the  Memsahib ! 
I  have  seen  the  Memsahib  !  " 

"Where?"  said  Dumoise. 

"  Down  there,  walking  on  the  road  to  the  vil- 
lage. She  was  in  a  blue  dress,  and  she  lifted  the 
veil  of  her  bonnet  and  said—'  Ram  Dass,  give  my 
salaams  to  the  Sahib,  and  tell  him  that  1  shall 
meet  him  next  month  at  Nuddea.'  Then  1  ran 
away,  because  I  was  afraid." 

What  Dumoise  said  or  did  I  do  not  know. 
Ram  Dass  declares  that  he  said  nothing,  but 
walked  up  and  down  the  veranda  all  the  cold 
night,  waiting  for  the  Memsahib  to  come  up  the 
hill  and  stretching  out  his  arms  into  the  dark  like 
a  madman.  But  no  Memsahib  came,  and,  next 
day,  he  went  on  to  Simla  cross-questioning  the 
bearer  every  hour. 

Ram  Dass  could  only  say  that  he  had  met  Mrs. 
Dumoise  and  that  she  had  lifted  up  her  veil  and 
given  him  the  message  which  he  had  faithfully 
repeated  to  Dumoise.     To  this  statement  Ram 


422  By  Word  of  Mouth 

Dass  adhered.  He  did  not  know  where  Nuddea 
was,  had  no  friends  at  Nuddea,  and  would  most 
certainly  never  go  to  Nuddea;  even  though  his 

pay  were  doubled. 

Nuddea  is  in  Bengal  and  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  a  Doctor  serving  in  the  Punjab.  It 
must  be  more  than  twelve  hundred  miles  south 
of  Meridki. 

Dumoise  went  through  Simla  without  halting, 
and  returned  to  Meridki,  there  to  take  over  charge 
from  the  man  who  had  been  officiating  for  him 
during  his  tour.  There  were  some  Dispensary 
accounts  to  be  explained,  and  some  recent  orders 
of  the  Surgeon-General  to  be  noted,  and,  alto- 
gether, the  taking-over  was  a  full  day's  work. 
In  the  evening,  Dumoise  told  his  locum  Unens, 
who  was  an  old  friend  of  his  bachelor  days,  what 
had  happened  at  Bagi ;  and  the  man  said  that 
Ram  Dass  might  as  well  have  chosen  Tuticorin 
while  he  was  about  it. 

At  that  moment,  a  telegraph-peon  came  in 
with  a  telegram  from  Simla,  ordering  Dumoise 
not  to  take  over  charge  at  Meridki,  but  to  go  at 
once  to  Nuddea  on  special  duty.  There  was  a 
nasty  outbreak  of  cholera  at  Nuddea,  and  the 
Bengal  Government,  being  short-handed,  ;is 
usual,  had  borrowed  a  Surgeon  from  the  Punjab. 

Dumoise  threw  the  telegram  across  the  table 
and  said— "Well?" 


By  Word  of  Mouth  423 

The  other  Doctor  said  nothing.  It  was  all  that 
he  could  say. 

Then  he  remembered  that  Dumoise  had  passed 
through  Simla  on  his  way  from  Bagi;  and  thus 
might,  possibly,  have  heard  first  news  of  the  im- 
pending transfer. 

He  tried  to  put  the  question,  and  the  implied 
suspicion  into  words,  but  Dumoise  stopped  him 
with — "If  I  had  desired  that,  I  should  never  have 
come  back  from  Chini.  I  was  shooting  there. 
I  wish  to  live,  for  I  have  things  to  do  .  .  . 
but  I  shall  not  be  sorry." 

The  other  man  bowed  his  head,  and  helped, 
in  the  twilight,  to  pack  up  Dumoise's  just  opened 
trunks.     Ram  Dass  entered  with  the  lamps. 

"  Where  is  the  Sahib  going  ?  "  he  asked. 

"To  Nuddea,"  said  Dumoise,  softly. 

Ram  Dass  clawed  Dumoise's  knees  and  boots 
and  begged  him  not  to  go.  Ram  Dass  wept  and 
howled  till  he  was  turned  out  of  the  room.  Then 
he  wrapped  up  all  his  belongings  and  came  back 
to  ask  for  a  character.  He  was  not  going  to 
Nuddea  to  see  his  Sahib  die  and,  perhaps,  to  die 
himself. 

So  Dumoise  gave  the  man  his  wages  and 
went  down  to  Nuddea  alone;  the  other  Doctor 
bidding  him  good-bye  as  one  under  sentence  of 
death. 

Eleven  days  later  he  had  joined  his  Memsahib ; 


424  By  Word  of  Mouth 

and  the  Bengal  Government  had  to  borrow  a 
fresh  Doctor  to  cope  with  that  epidemic  at 
Nuddea.  The  first  importation  lay  dead  in 
Chooadanga  Dak-Bungalow. 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE 

By  the  hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat  up-tossed 
From  the  Cliff  where  She  lay  in  the  Sun, 

Fell  the  Stone 
To  the  Tarn  where  the  daylight  is  lost; 
So  She  fell  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 

And  alone. 

Now  the  fall  was  ordained  from  the  first, 
With  the  Goat  and  the  Cliff  and  the  Tarn, 

But  the  Stone 
Knows  only  Her  life  is  accursed, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  depths  of  the  Tarn, 

And  alone. 

Oh,  Thou  who  hast  builded  the  world! 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  lighted  the  Sun ! 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  darkened  the  Tarn ! 

Judge  Thou 
The  sin  of  the  Stone  that  was  hurled 
By  the  Goat  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  mire  of  the  Tarn, 

Even  now — even  now — even  now ! 

— From  the  Unpublished  Papers  of  Mcintosh  Jellaludin. 

<(  O  AY  is  it  dawn,  is  it  dusk  in  thy  Bower, 
O    Thou  whom  I  long  for,  who  longest  for 
me? 
Oh,  be  it  night— be  it"— 
427 


428  To  be  Filed  for  Reference 

Here  he  fell  over  a  little  camel-colt  that  was 
sleeping  in  the  Serai  where  the  horse-traders  and 
the  best  of  the  blackguards  from  Central  Asia 
live;  and,  because  he  was  very  drunk  indeed  and 
the  night  was  dark,  he  could  not  rise  again  till  1 
helped  him.  That  was  the  beginning  of  my  ac- 
quaintance with  Mcintosh  Jellaludin.  When  a 
loafer,  and  drunk,  sings  "The  Song  of  the 
Bower,"  he  must  be  worth  cultivating.  He  got 
off  the  camel's  back  and  said,  rather  thickly,  "  I 
— I — I'm  a  bit  screwed,  but  a  dip  in  Loggerhead 
will  put  me  right  again;  and,  I  say,  have  you 
spoken  to  Symonds  about  the  mare's  knees?" 

Now  Loggerhead  was  six  thousand  weary  miles 
away  from  us,  close  to  Mesopotamia,  where  you 
mustn't  fish  and  poaching  is  impossible,  and 
Charley  Symonds'  stable  a  half  mile  farther  across 
the  paddocks.  It  was  strange  to  hear  all  the  old 
names,  on  a  May  night,  among  the  horses  and 
camels  of  the  Sultan  Caravanserai.  Then  the  man 
seemed  to  remember  himself  and  sober  down  at 
the  same  time.  We  leaned  against  the  camel 
and  pointed  to  a  corner  of  the  Serai  where  a  lamp 
was  burning. 

"I  live  there,"  said  he,  "and  I  should  be  ex- 
tremely obliged  if  you  would  be  good  enough  to 
help  my  mutinous  feet  thither;  for  I  am  more 
than  usually  drunk — most — most  phenomenally 
tight.     But   not   in    respect   to   my  head.     '  My 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference  429 

brain  cries  out  against ' — how  does  it  go  ?  But 
my  head  rides  on  the — rolls  on  the  dunghill  I 
should  have  said,  and  controls  the  qualm." 

I  helped  him  through  the  gangs  of  tethered 
horses  and  he  collapsed  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda 
in  front  of  the  line  of  native  quarters. 

"Thanks — a  thousand  thanks!  O  Moon  and 
little,  little  Stars!  To  think  that  a  man  should  so 
shamelessly  .  .  .  Infamous  liquor  too.  Ovid 
in  exile  drank  no  worse.  Better.  It  was  frozen. 
Alas!  I  had  no  ice.  Good-night.  I  would  in- 
troduce you  to  my  wife  were  I  sober — or  she  civ- 
ilized." ' 

A  native  woman  came  out  of  the  darkness  of 
the  room,  and  began  calling  the  man  names;  so 
I  went  away.  He  was  the  most  interesting  loafer 
that  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  for  a  long 
time;  and  later  on,  he  became  a  friend  of  mine. 
He  was  a  tall,  well-built,  fair  man,  fearfully 
shaken  with  drink,  and  he  looked  nearer  fifty 
than  the  thirty-five  which,  he  said,  was  his  real 
age.  When  a  man  begins  to  sink  in  India,  and 
is  not  sent  Home  by  his  friends  as  soon  as  may 
be,  he  falls  very  low  from  a  respectable  point  of 
view.  By  the  time  that  he  changes  his  creed, 
as  did  Mcintosh,  he  is  past  redemption. 

In  most  big  cities,  natives  will  tell  you  of  two 
or  three  Sahibs,  generally  low-caste,  who  have 
turned  Hindu  or  Mussulman,  and  who  live  more 


430  To  be  Filed  for  Reference 

or  less  as  such.  But  it  is  not  often  that  you  can 
get  to  know  them.  As  Mcintosh  himself  used  to 
say,  "If  I  change  my  religion  for  my  stomach's 
sake,  I  do  not  seek  to  become  a  martyr  to  mis- 
sionaries, nor  am  I  anxious  for  notoriety." 

At  the  outset  of  acquaintance  Mcintosh  warned 
me.  "Remember  this.  I  am  not  an  object  for 
charity.  I  require  neither  your  money,  your  food, 
nor  your  cast-off  raiment.  I  am  that  rare  animal, 
a  self-supporting  drunkard.  If  you  choose,  I  will 
smoke  with  you,  for  the  tobacco  of  the  bazars 
does  not,  I  admit,  suit  my  palate;  and  I  will  bor- 
row any  books  which  you  may  not  specially 
value.  It  is  more  than  likely  that  I  shall  sell  them 
for  bottles  of  excessively  filthy  country  liquors. 
In  return,  you  shall  share  such  hospitality  as  my 
house  affords.  Here  is  a  charpoy  on  which  two 
can  sit,  and  it  is  possible  that  there  may,  from 
time  to  time,  be  food  in  that  platter.  Drink,  un- 
fortunately, you  will  find  on  the  premises  at  any 
hour:  and  thus  I  make  you  welcome  to  all  my 
poor  establishment." 

I  was  admitted  to  the  Mcintosh  household— I 
and  my  good  tobacco.  But  nothing  else.  Un- 
luckily, one  cannot  visit  a  loafer  in  the  Serai  by 
day.  Friends  buying  horses  would  not  under- 
stand it.  Consequently,  I  was  obliged  to  see  Mc- 
intosh after  dark.  He  laughed  at  this,  and  said 
simply,  "You  are  perfectly  right.     When  I  en- 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference  431 

joyed  a  position  in  society,  rather  higher  than 
yours,  I  should  have  done  exactly  the  same  thing. 
Good  heavens !  I  was  once  " — he  spoke  as  though 
he  had  fallen  from  the  Command  of  a  Regiment 
— "  an  Oxford  Man !  "  This  accounted  for  the  ref- 
erence to  Charley  Symonds'  stable. 

"You,"  said  Mcintosh,  slowly,  "  have  not  had 
that  advantage;  but,  to  outward  appearance,  you 
do  not  seem  possessed  of  a  craving  for  strong 
drinks.  On  the  whole,  I  fancy  that  you  are  the 
luckier  of  the  two.  Yet  I  am  not  certain.  You 
are — forgive  my  saying  so  even  while  I  am  smok- 
ing your  excellent  tobacco — painfully  ignorant  of 
many  things." 

We  were  sitting  together  on  the  edge  of  his 
bedstead,  for  he  owned  no  chairs,  watching  the 
horses  being  watered  for  the  night,  while  the  na- 
tive woman  was  preparing  dinner.  I  did  not  like 
being  patronized  by  a  loafer,  but  I  was  his  guest 
for  the  time  being,  though  he  owned  only  one 
very  torn  alpaca-coat  and  a  pair  of  trousers  made 
out  of  gunny-bags.  He  took  the  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth,  and  went  on  judicially,  "All  things  con- 
sidered, I  doubt  whether  you  are  the  luckier.  I 
do  not  refer  to  your  extremely  limited  classical 
attainments,  or  your  excruciating  quantities,  but 
to  your  gross  ignorance  of  matters  more  imme- 
diately under  your  notice.  That,  for  instance," 
he  pointed  to  a  woman  cleaning  a  samovar  near 


4^2  To  be  Filed  for  Re  fere  in  e 

the  well  in  the  centre  of  the  Serai.  She  was  flick- 
ing the  water  out  of  the  spout  in  regular  cadenced 
jerks. 

"There  are  ways  and  ways  of  cleaning  sam- 
ovars. If  you  knew  why  she  was  doing  her 
work  in  that  particular  fashion,  you  would  know 
what  the  Spanish  Monk  meant  when  he  said  — 

I  the  Trinity  illustrate, 

Drinking  watered  orange-pulp  — 
In  three  sips  the  Arian  frustrate, 

While  he  drains  his  at  one  gulp  — 

and  many  other  things  which  now  are  hidden 
from  your  eyes.  However,  Mrs.  Mcintosh  has 
prepared  dinner.  Let  us  come  and  eat  after  the 
fashion  of  the  people  of  the  country — of  whom, 
by  the  way,  you  know  nothing." 

The  native  woman  dipped  her  hand  in  the  dish 
with  us.  This  was  wrong.  The  wife  should 
always  wait  until  the  husband  has  eaten.  Mcin- 
tosh Jellaludin  apologized,  saying  — 

"It  is  an  Knglish  prejudice  which  1  have  not 
been  able  to  overcome;  and  she  loves  me.  Win. 
1  have  never  been  able  to  understand.  I  fore- 
gathered with  her  at  Jullundur,  three  years  ago, 
and  she  has  remained  with  me  ever  since.  I  be- 
lieve her  to  be  moral,  and  know  her  to  be  skilled 
in  cookery." 

He  patted  the  woman's  head  as  he  spoke,  and 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference  433 

she  cooed  softly.  She  was  not  pretty  to  look 
at. 

Mcintosh  never  told  me  what  position  he  had 
held  before  his  fall.  He  was,  when  sober,  a 
scholar  and  a  gentleman.  When  drunk,  he  was 
rather  more  of  the  first  than  the  second.  He  used 
to  get  drunk  about  once  a  week  for  two  days. 
On  those  occasions  the  native  woman  tended 
him  while  he  raved  in  all  tongues  except  his  own. 
One  day,  indeed,  he  began  reciting  Atalanta  in 
Calydon,  and  went  through  it  to  the  end,  beat- 
ing time  to  the  swing  of  the  verse  with  a  bed- 
stead-leg. But  he  did  most  of  his  ravings  in 
Greek  or  German.  The  man's  mind  was  a  per- 
fect rag-bag  of  useless  things.  Once,  when  he 
was  beginning  to  get  sober,  he  told  me  that  I  was 
the  only  rational  being  in  the  Inferno  into  which 
he  had  descended — a  Virgil  in  the  Shades,  he 
said — and  that,  in  return  for  my  tobacco,  he 
would,  before  he  died,  give  me  the  materials  of  a 
new  Inferno  that  should  make  me  greater  than 
Dante.  Then  he  fell  asleep  on  a  horse-blanket 
and  woke  up  quite  calm. 

"Man,"  said  he,  "when  you  have  reached  the 
uttermost  depths  of  degradation,  little  incidents 
which  would  vex  a  higher  life,  are  to  you  of  no 
consequence.  Last  night,  my  soul  was  among 
the  Gods;  but  I  make  no  doubt  that  my  bestial 
body  was  writhing  down  here  in  the  garbage." 


434  To  be  Filed  for  Reference 

"You  were  abominably  drunk  if  that's  what 
you  mean,"  I  said. 

"I  was  drunk — filthily  drunk.  I  who  am  the 
son  of  a  man  with  whom  you  have  no  concern — 
1  who  was  once  Fellow  of  a  College  whose  but- 
tery-hatch you  have  not  seen.  I  was  loathsomely 
drunk.  But  consider  how  lightly  I  am  touched. 
It  is  nothing  to  me.  Less  than  nothing;  for  I  do 
not  even  feel  the  headache  which  should  be  my 
portion.  Now,  in  a  higher  life,  how  ghastly 
would  have  been  my  punishment,  how  bitter  my 
repentance!  Believe  me  my  friend  with  the 
neglected  education,  the  highest  is  as  the  lowest 
— always  supposing  each  degree  extreme." 

He  turned  round  on  the  blanket,  put  his  head 
between  his  fists  and  continued  — 

"On  the  Soul  which  I  have  lost  and  on  the 
Conscience  which  I  have  killed,  I  tell  you  that  I 
cannot  feel!  I  am  as  the  Gods,  knowing  good 
and  evil,  but  untouched  by  either.  Is  this  en- 
viable or  is  it  not?" 

When  a  man  has  lost  the  warning  of  "next 
morning's  head,"  he  must  be  in  a  bad  state.  I 
answered,  looking  at  Mcintosh  on  the  blanket, 
with  his  hair  over  his  eyes  and  his  lips  blue-white, 
that  I  did  not  think  the  insensibility  good  enough. 

"  For  pity's  sake,  don't  say  that!  I  tell  you,  it 
is  good  and  most  enviable.  Think  of  my  con- 
solations!" 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference  435 

"  Have  you  so  many,  then,  Mcintosh  ?" 

"  Certainly;  your  attempts  at  sarcasm  which  is 
essentially  the  weapon  of  a  cultured  man,  are 
crude.  First,  my  attainments,  my  classical  and 
literary  knowledge,  blurred,  perhaps,  by  immod- 
erate drinking — which  reminds  me  that  before 
my  soul  went  to  the  Gods  last  night,  I  sold  the 
Pickering  Horace  you  so  kindly  loaned  me. 
Ditta  Mull  the  clothesman  has  it.  It  fetched  ten 
annas,  and  may  be  redeemed  for  a  rupee — but 
still  infinitely  superior  to  yours.  Secondly,  the 
abiding  affection  of  Mrs.  Mcintosh,  best  of  wives. 
Thirdly,  a  monument,  more  enduring  than  brass, 
which  I  have  built  up  in  the  seven  years  of  my 
degradation." 

He  stopped  here,  and  crawled  across  the  room 
for  a  drink  of  water.  He  was  very  shaky  and 
sick. 

He  referred  several  times  to  his  "  treasure" — 
some  great  possession  that  he  owned — but  I  held 
this  to  be  the  raving  of  drink.  He  was  as  poor 
and  as  proud  as  he  could  be.  His  manner  was 
not  pleasant,  but  he  knew  enough  about  the  na- 
tives, among  whom  seven  years  of  his  life  had 
been  spent,  to  make  his  acquaintance  worth  hav- 
ing. He  used  actually  to  laugh  at  Strickland  as 
an  ignorant  man — " ignorant  West  and  East"— 
he  said.  His  boast  was,  first,  that  he  was  an 
Oxford  Man  of  rare  and  shining  parts,  which 


436  To  be  Filed  for  Reference 

may  or  may  not  have  been  true — I  did  not  know 
enough  to  check  his  statements — and,  secondly, 
that  he  "had  his  hand  on  the  pulse  of  native 
life  " — which  was  a  fact.  As  an  Oxford  Man,  he 
struck  me  as  a  prig:  he  was  always  throwing  his 
education  about.  As  a  Mohammedan  faquir — 
as  Mcintosh  Jellaludin — he  was  all  that  I  wanted 
for  my  own  ends.  He  smoked  several  pounds 
of  my  tobacco,  and  taught  me  several  ounces  of 
things  worth  knowing;  but  he  would  never  ac- 
cept any  gifts,  not  even  when  the  cold  weather 
came,  and  gripped  the  poor  thin  chest  under  the 
poor  thin  alpaca-coat.  He  grew  very  angry,  and 
said  that  1  had  insulted  him,  and  that  he  was  not 
going  into  hospital.  He  had  lived  like  a  beast 
and  he  would  die  rationally,  like  a  man. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  died  of  pneumonia;  and 
on  the  night  of  his  death  sent  over  a  grubby  note 
asking  me  to  come  and  help  him  to  die. 

The  native  woman  was  weeping  by  the  side  of 
the  bed.  Mcintosh,  wrapped  in  a  cotton  cloth, 
was  too  weak  to  resent  a  fur  coat  being  thrown 
over  him.  He  was  very  active  as  far  as  his  mind 
was  concerned,  and  his  eyes  were  blazing. 
When  he  had  abused  the  Doctor  who  came  with 
me,  so  foully  that  the  indignant  old  fellow  left, 
he  cursed  me  for  a  few  minutes  and  calmed 
down. 

Then  he  told  his  wife  to  fetch  out  "The  Book  " 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference  437 

from  a  hole  in  the  wall.  She  brought  out  a  big 
bundle,  wrapped  in  the  tail  of  a  petticoat,  of  old 
sheets  of  miscellaneous  note-paper,  all  numbered 
and  covered  with  fine  cramped  writing.  Mcin- 
tosh ploughed  his  hand  through  the  rubbish  and 
stirred  it  up  lovingly. 

"This,"  he  said,  "is  my  work — the  Book  of 
Mcintosh  Jellaludin,  showing  what  he  saw  and 
how  he  lived,  and  what  befell  him  and  others; 
being  also  an  account  of  the  life  and  sins  and 
death  of  Mother  Maturin.  What  Mirza  Murad 
Ali  Beg's  book  is  to  all  other  books  on  native  life, 
will  my  work  be  to  Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's! " 

This,  as  will  be  conceded  by  any  one  who 
knows  Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's  book,  was  a  sweep- 
ing statement.  The  papers  did  not  look  specially 
valuable;  but  Mcintosh  handled  them  as  if  they 
were  currency-notes.     Then  said  he  slowly  — 

"  In  despite  the  many  weaknesses  of  your  edu- 
cation, you  have  been  good  to  me.  I  will  speak 
of  your  tobacco  when  I  reach  the  Gods.  I  owe 
you  much  thanks  for  many  kindnesses.  But  I 
abominate  indebtedness.  For  this  reason,  I  be- 
queath to  you  now  the  monument  more  en- 
during than  brass — my  one  book — rude  and 
imperfect  in  parts,  but  oh  how  rare  in  others!  I 
wonder  if  you  will  understand  it.  It  is  a  gift 
more  honorable  than  .  .  .  Bah!  where  is  my 
brain  rambling  to  ?    You  will  mutilate  i*  hor- 


438  To  be  Filed  for  Reference 

ribly.  You  will  knock  out  the  gems  you  call 
Latin  quotations,  you  Philistine,  and  you  will 
butcher  the  style  to  carve  into  your  own  jerky 
jargon;  but  you  cannot  destroy  the  whole  of  it. 
I  bequeath  it  to  you.  Ethel  .  .  .  My  brain 
again!  .  .  .  Mrs.  Mcintosh,  bear  witness  that 
I  give  the  Sahib  all  these  papers.  They  would  be 
of  no  use  to  you,  Heart  of  my  Heart;  and  I  lay  it 
upon  you,"  he  turned  to  me  here,  "that  you  do 
not  let  my  book  die  in  its  present  form.  It  is 
yours  unconditionally — the  story  of  Mcintosh 
Jellaludin,  which  is  not  the  story  of  Mcintosh 
Jellaludin,  but  of  a  greater  man  than  he,  and  of  a 
far  greater  woman.  Listen  now!  I  am  neither 
mad  nor  drunk!  That  book  will  make  you 
famous." 

1  said,  "Thank  you,"  as  the  native  woman  put 
the  bundle  into  my  arms. 

"  My  only  baby!  "  said  Mcintosh,  with  a  smile. 
He  was  sinking  fast,  but  he  continued  to  talk  as 
long  as  breath  remained.  I  waited  for  the  end; 
knowing  that,  in  six  cases  out  of  ten  a  dying 
man  calls  for  his  mother.  He  turned  on  his  side 
and  said  — 

"Say  how  it  came  into  your  possession.  No 
one  will  believe  you,  but  mv  name,  at  least,  wili 
live.  You  will  treat  it  brutally,  I  know  you  will. 
Some  of  it  must  go;  the  public  are  fools  and 
prudish  fools.     I  was  their  servant  once.     But  do 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference  439 

your  mangling  gently — very  gently.  It  is  a  great 
work,  and  I  have  paid  for  it  in  seven  years'  dam- 
nation.'"' 

His  voice  stopped  for  ten  or  twelve  breaths, 
and  then  he  began  mumbling  a  prayer  of  some 
kind  in  Greek.  The  native  woman  cried  very 
bitterly.  Lastly,  he  rose  in  bed  and  said,  as 
loudly  as  slowly — "Not  guilty,  my  Lord!" 

Then  he  fell  back,  and  the  stupor  held  him  till 
he  died.  The  native  woman  ran  into  the  Serai 
among  the  horses,  and  screamed  and  beat  her 
breasts;  for  she  had  loved  him. 

Perhaps  his  last  sentence  in  life  told  what 
Mcintosh  had  once  gone  through;  but,  saving 
the  big  bundle  of  old  sheets  in  the  cloth,  there 
was  nothing  in  his  room  to  say  who  or  what  he 
had  been. 

The  papers  were  in  a  hopeless  muddle. 

Strickland  helped  me  to  sort  them,  and  he  said 
that  the  writer  was  either  an  extreme  liar  or  a 
most  wonderful  person.  He  thought  the  former. 
One  of  these  days,  you  may  be  able  to  judge 
for  yourselves.  The  bundle  needed  much  ex- 
purgation and  was  full  of  Greek  nonsense,  at 
the  head  of  the  chapters,  which  has  all  been  cut 
out. 

If  the  thing  is  ever  published,  some  one  may 
perhaps  remember  this  story,  now  printed  as 
a  safeguard  to  prove  that  Mcintosh  Jellaludin 


440  To  be  Filed  for  Reference 

and  not  I  myself  wrote  the  Book  of  Mother  Ma- 
turin. 

I  don't  want  the  Giant's  Robe  to  come  true  in 
my  case. 


THE  LAST  RELIEF 


THE  LAST  RELIEF 

"  He  rode  to  death  across  the  moor  — 
Oh,  false  to  me  and  mine ! 
But  the  naked  ghost  came  to  my  door 
And  bade  me  tend  the  kine. 

"  The  naked  ghost  came  to  my  door, 
And  flickered  to  and  fro, 
And  syne  it  whimpered  through  the  crack 
Wi'  '  Jeanie,  let  me  go.' " 

—  Old  Ballad. 

NOTHING  is  easier  than  the  administration  of 
an  empire  so  long  as  there  is  a  supply  of 
administrators.  Nothing,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
more  difficult  than  short-handed  administration. 
In  India,  where  every  man  holding  authority 
above  a  certain  grade  must  be  specially  imported 
from  England,  this  difficulty  crops  up  at  unex- 
pected seasons.  Then  the  great  empire  staggers 
along,  like  a  North  Sea  fishing-smack,  with  a 
crew  of  two  men  and  a  boy,  until  a  fresh  supply 
of  food  for  fever  arrives  from  England,  and  the 
gaps  are  filled  up.  Some  of  the  provinces  are 
permanently  short-handed,  because  their  rulers 
know  that  if  they  give  a  man  just  a  little  more 
work  than   he  can   do,  he   contrives  to  do  it. 

443 


444  The  Last  Relief 

From  the  man's  point  of  view  this  is  wasteful, 
but  it  helps  the  empire  forward,  and  flesh  and 
blood  are  very  cheap.  The  young  men — and 
young  men  are  always  exacting — expect  too 
much  at  the  outset.  They  come  to  India  desiring 
careers  and  money  and  a  little  success,  and  some- 
times a  wife.  There  is  no  limit  to  their  desires, 
but  in  a  few  years  it  is  explained  to  them  by  the 
sky  above,  the  earth  beneath,  and  the  men 
around,  that  they  are  of  far  less  importance  than 
their  work,  and  that  it  really  does  not  concern 
themselves  whether  they  live  or  die  so  long  as 
that  work  continues.  After  they  have  learned 
this  lesson,  they  become  men  worth  consider- 
ation. 

Many  seasons  ago  the  gods  attacked  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  government  of  India  in  the 
heart  of  the  hot  season.  They  caused  pestilences 
and  famines,  and  killed  the  men  who  were 
deputed  to  deal  with  each  pestilence  and  every 
famine.  They  rolled  the  smallpox  across  a 
desert,  and  it  killed  four  Englishmen,  one  after 
the  other,  leaving  thirty  thousand  square  miles 
masterless  for  many  days.  They  even  caused 
the  cholera  to  attack  the  reserve  depots — the 
sanitaria  in  the  Himalayas — where  men  were 
waiting  on  leave  till  their  turn  should  come  to  go 
down  into  the  heat.  They  killed  men  with  sun- 
stroke who  otherwise  might  have  lived  for  three 


The  Last  Relief  445 

months  longer,  and — this  was  mean — they  caused 
a  strong  man  to  tumble  from  his  horse  and  break 
his  neck  just  when  he  was  most  needed.  It  will 
not  be  long,  that  is  to  say,  five  or  six  years  will 
pass,  before  those  who  survived  forget  that 
season  of  tribulation,  when  they  danced  at  Simla 
with  wives  who  feared  that  they  might  be 
widows  before  the  morning,  and  when  the  daily 
papers  from  the  plains  confined  themselves  en- 
tirely to  one  kind  of  domestic  occurrence. 

Only  the  Supreme  government  never  blanched, 
it  sat  upon  the  hilltops  of  Simla  among  the  pines, 
and  called  for  returns  and  statements  as  usual. 
Sometimes  it  called  to  a  dead  man,  but  it  always 
received  the  returns  as  soon  as  his  successor 
could  take  his  place. 

Ricketts  of  Myndonie  died,  and  was  relieved 
by  Carter.  Carter  was  invalided  home,  but  he 
worked  to  the  last  minute,  and  left  no  arrears. 
He  was  relieved  by  Morten-Holt,  who  was  too 
young  for  the  work.  Holt  died  of  sunstroke 
when  the  famine  was  in  Myndonie.  He  was  re- 
lieved by  Darner,  a  man  borrowed  from  another 
province,  who  did  all  he  could,  but  broke  down 
from  overwork.  Cromer,  in  London  on  a  year's 
leave,  was  dragged  out  by  telegram  from  the 
cool  darkness  of  a  Brompton  flat  to  the  white 
heat  of  Myndonie,  and  he  held  fast.  That  is  the 
record  of  Myndonie  alone. 


446  The  Last  Relief 

On  the  Moonee  Canal  three  men  went  down; 
in  the  Kahan  district,  when  cholera  was  at  its 
worst,  three  more.  In  the  Divisional  Court  of 
Halimpur  two  good  men  were  accounted  for; 
and  so  the  record  ran,  exclusive  of  the  wives  and 
little  children.  It  was  a  great  game  of  general 
post,  with  death  in  all  the  corners,  and  it  drove 
the  Government  to  their  wits'  end  to  tide  over 
the  trouble  till  autumn  should  bring  the  new 
drafts. 

The  gods  had  no  mercy,  but  the  Government 
and  the  men  it  employed  had  no  fear.  This  an- 
noyed the  gods,  who  are  immortal,  for  they  per- 
ceived, that  the  men  whose  portion  was  death 
were  greater  than  they.  The  gods  are  always 
troubled,  even  in  their  paradises,  by  this  sense  of 
inferiority.  They  know  that  it  is  so  easy  for 
themselves  to  be  strong  and  cruel,  and  they  are 
afraid  of  being  laughed  at.  So  they  smote  more 
furiously  than  ever,  just  as  a  swordsman  slashes 
at  a  chain  to  prove  the  temper  of  his  blade.  The 
chain  of  men  parted  for  an  instant  at  the  stroke, 
but  it  closed  up  again,  and  continued  to  drag  the 
empire  forward,  and  not  one  living  link  of  it 
rang  false  or  was  weak.  All  desired  life,  and 
love,  and  the  light,  and  liquor,  and  larks,  but  none 
the  less  they  died  without  whimpering.  There- 
fore the  gods  would  have  continued  to  slay  them 
till  this  very  day  had  not  one  man  failed. 


The  Last  Relief  447 

His  name  was  Haydon,  and  being  young,  he 
looked  for  all  that  young  men  desire;  most  of  all, 
he  looked  for  love.  He  had  been  at  work  in  the 
Girdhauri  district  for  eleven  months,  till  fever 
and  pressure  had  shaken  his  nerve  more  than  he 
knew.  At  last  he  had  taken  the  holiday  that  was 
his  right — the  holiday  for  which  he  had  saved  up 
one  month  a  year  for  three  years  past.  Keyte,  a 
junior,  relieved  him  one  hot  afternoon.  Haydon 
shut  his  ink-stained  office  box,  packed  himself 
some  thick  clothes — he  had  been  living  in  cotton 
ducks  for  four  months — gave  his  files  of  sweat- 
dotted  papers,  saw  Keyte  slide  a  piece  of  blot- 
ting-paper between  the  naked  arm  and  the  desk, 
and  left  that  parched  station  of  roaring  dust 
storms  for  Simla  and  the  cool  of  the  snows. 
There  he  found  rest,  and  the  pink  blotches  of 
prickly  heat  faded  from  his  body,  and  being  idle, 
he  went  a-courting  without  knowing  it.  After  a 
decent  interval  he  found  himself  drifting  very 
gently  along  the  road  that  leads  to  the  church, 
and  a  pretty  girl  helped  him.  He  enjoyed  his 
meals,  was  free  from  the  intolerable  strain  of 
bodily  discomfort,  and  as  he  looked  from  Simla 
upon  the  torment  of  the  silver-wrapped  plains 
below,  laughed  to  think  he  had  escaped  honor- 
ably, and  could  talk  prettily  to  a  pretty  girl,  who, 
he  felt  sure,  would  in  a  little  time  answer  an  im- 
portant question  as  it  should  be  answered. 


448  The  List  Relief 

But  out  of  natural  perversity  and  an  inferior 
physique,  Keyte,  at  Girdhauri,  one  evening  laid 
his  head  upon  his  table  and  never  lifted  it  up 
again,  and  news  was  (lashed  up  to  Sim'a  that  the 
district  of  Girdhauri  called  for  a  new  head.  It 
never  occurred  to  Haydon  that  he  would  be  in 
any  way  concerned  till  Hamerton,  a  secretary  of 
the  Government,  stopped  him  on  the  Mall,  and 
said: 

"I'm  afraid — I'm  very  much  afraid — that  you 
will  have  to  drop  your  leave  and  go  back  to 
Girdhauri.  You  see  Keyte's  dead,  and — and  we 
have  no  one  else  to  send  except  yourself.  The 
roster's  a  very  short  one  this  season,  and  you  look 
much  better  than  when  you  came  up.  Of  course 
I'll  do  all  I  can  to  spare  you,  but  I'm  afraid — I'm 
very  much  afraid — that  you  will  have  to  go 
down." 

The  Government,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not 
in  the  least  afraid.  It  was  quite  certain  that 
Haydon  must  go  down.  He  was  in  moderately 
good  health,  had  enjoyed  nearly  a  month's  holi- 
day, and  the  needs  of  the  state  were  urgent. 
Let  him,  they  said,  return  to  his  work  at  Gir- 
dhauri. He  must  forego  his  leave,  but  some  time, 
in  the  years  to  come,  the  Government  might  re- 
pay him  the  lost  months,  if  it  were  not  too  short- 
handed.  In  the  meantime  he  would  return  to 
duty. 


The  Last  Relief  449 

The  assistants  in  the  hara-kiri  of  Japan  are  all 
intimate  friends  of  the  man  who  must  die.  They 
like  him  immensely,  and  they  bring  him  the  news 
of  his  doom  with  polite  sorrow.  But  he  must 
die,  for  that  is  required  of  him. 

Hamerton  would  have  spared  Haydon  had  it 
been  possible,  but,  indeed,  he  was  the  healthiest 
man  in  the  ranks,  and  he  knew  the  district. 
"You  will  go  down  to-morrow,"  said  Hamer- 
ton. "  The  regular  notification  will  appear  in  the 
Gazette  later  on.  We  can't  stand  on  forms  this 
vear." 

Haydon  said  nothing,  because  those  who  gov- 
ern India  obey  the  law.  He  looked — it  was 
evening — at  the  line  of  the  sun-flushed  snows 
forty  miles  to  the  east,  and  the  palpitating  heat 
haze  of  the  plains  fifty  miles  to  the  west,  and  his 
heart  sank.  He  wished  to  stay  in  Simla  to  con- 
tinue his  wooing,  and  he  knew  too  well  the  tor- 
ments that  were  in  store  for  him  in  Girdhauri. 
His  nerve  was  broken.  The  coolness,  the 
dances,  the  dinners  that  were  to  come,  the  scent 
of  the  Simla  pines  and  the  wood  smoke,  the 
canter  of  horses'  feet  on  the  crowded  Mall, 
turned  his  heart  to  water.  He  could  have  wept 
passionately,  like  a  little  child,  for  his  lost  holi- 
day and  his  lost  love,  and,  like  a  little  child 
balked  of  its  play,  he  became  filled  with  cheap 
spite  that  can  only  hurt  the  owner.     The  men  at 


4S0  The  Last  Relief 

the  Club  were  sorry  for  him,  but  he  did  not  want 
to  be  condoled  with.  He  was  angry  and  afraid. 
Though  he  recognized  the  necessity  of  the  injus- 
tice that  had  been  done  to  him,  he  conceived  that 
it  could  all  be  put  right  by  yet  another  injustice, 
and  then — and  then  somebody  else  would  have 
to  do  his  work,  for  he  would  be  out  of  it  for- 
ever. 

He  reflected  on  this  while  he  was  hurrying 
down  the  hillsides,  after  a  last  interview  with  the 
pretty  girl,  to  whom  he  had  said  nothing  that 
was  not  commonplace  and  inconclusive.  This 
last  failure  made  him  the  more  angry  with  him- 
self, and  the  spite  and  the  rage  increased.  The 
air  grew  warmer  and  warmer  as  the  cart  rattled 
down  the  mountain  road,  till  at  last  the  hot,  stale 
stillness  of  the  plains  closed  over  his  head  like 
heated  oil,  and  he  gasped  for  breath  among  the 
dry  date-palms  at  Kalka.  Then  came  the  long 
level  ride  into  Umballa;  the  stench  of  dust  which 
breeds  despair;  the  lime-washed  walls  of  Um- 
balla station,  hot  to  the  hand  though  it  was 
eleven  at  night;  the  greasy,  rancid  meal  served 
by  the  sweating  servants;  the  badly  trimmed 
lamps  in  the  oven-like  waiting-room;  and  the 
whining  of  innumerable  mosquitoes.  That  night, 
he  remembered,  there  would  be  a  dance  at  Simla. 
He  was  a  very  weak  man. 

That  night  Hamerton  sat  at  work  till  late  in  the 


The  Last  Relief  451 

old  Simla  Foreign  Office,  which  was  a  rambling 
collection  of  match-boxes  packed  away  in  a  dark 
by-path  under  the  pines.  One  of  the  wandering 
storms  that  run  before  the  regular  breaking  of 
the  monsoon  had  wrapped  Simla  in  white  mist. 
The  rain  was  roaring  on  the  shingled,  tin-patched 
roof,  and  the  thunder  rolled  to  and  fro  among  the 
hills  as  a  ship  rolls  in  the  seaways.  Hamerton 
called  for  a  lamp  and  a  fire  to  drive  out  the  smell 
of  mould  and  forest  undergrowth  that  crept  in 
from  the  woods.  The  clerks  and  secretaries  had 
left  the  office  two  hours  ago,  and  there  remained 
only  one  native  orderly,  who  set  the  lamp  and 
went  away.  Hamerton  returned  to  his  papers, 
and  the  voice  of  the  rain  rose  and  fell.  In  the 
pauses  he  could  catch  the  crunching  of  'rickshaw 
wheels  and  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet  going  to 
the  dance  at  the  Viceroy's.  These  ceased  at  last, 
and  the  rain  with  them.  The  thunder  drew  off, 
muttering,  toward  the  plains,  and  all  the  drip- 
ping pine-trees  sighed  with  relief. 

"Orderly,"  said  Hamerton.  He  fancied  that 
he  heard  somebody  moving  about  the  rooms. 
There  was  no  answer,  except  a  deep-drawn 
breath  at  the  door.  It  might  come  from  a 
panther  prowling  about  the  verandas  in  search  of 
a  pet  dog,  but  panthers  generally  snuffed  in  a 
deeper  key.  This  was  a  thick,  gasping  breath, 
as  of  one  who  had  been  running  swiftly,  or  lay 


452  The  Last  Relief 

in  deadly  pain.  Hamerton  listened  again.  There 
certainly  was  somebody  moving  about  the  For- 
eign Office.  He  could  hear  boards  creaking  in 
far-off  rooms,  and  uncertain  steps  on  the  rickety 
staircase.  Since  the  clock  marked  close  upon 
midnight,  no  one  had  a  right  to  be  in  the  office. 
Hamerton  had  picked  up  the  lamp,  and  was  go- 
ing to  make  a  search,  when  the  steps  and  the 
heavy  breathing  came  to  the  door  again,  and 
staid. 

"Who's  there?"  said  Hamerton.  "Come 
in. 

Again  the  heavy  breathing,  and  a  thick,  short 
cough. 

"Who  relieves  Haydon?"  said  a  voice  out- 
side. "Haydon!  Haydon!  Dying  at  Umballa. 
He  can't  go  till  he  is  relieved.  Who  relieves 
Haydon?" 

Hamerton  dashed  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  to 
find  a  stolid  messenger  from  the  telegraph  office, 
breathing  through  his  nose,  after  the  manner  of 
natives.  The  man  held  out  a  telegram.  "I 
could  not  find  the  room  at  first,"  he  said.  "  Is 
there  an  answer  ?" 

The  telegram  was  from  the  Station-master  at 
Umballa,  and  said:  "Englishman  killed;  up 
mail  42;  slipped  from  platform.  Dying.  Hay- 
don.    Civilian.     Inform  Government." 

"There  is  no  answer,''  said  Hamerton;  and  the 


The  Last  Relief  453 

man  went  away.     But  the  fluttering  whisper  Hi 
the  door  continued: 

"Hay  don!  Hay  don!  Who  relieves  Haydon? 
He  must  not  go  till  he  is  relieved.  Haydon! 
Haydon!  Dying  at  Umballa.  For  pity's  sake, 
be  quick! " 

Hamerton  thought  for  a  minute  of  the  pitifully 
short  roster  of  men  available,  and  answered, 
quietly,  "  Flint,  of  Degauri."  Then,  and  not  till 
then,  did  the  hair  begin  to  rise  on  his  head;  and 
Hamerton,  secretary  to  Government,  neglecting 
the  lamp  and  the  papers,  went  out  very  quickly 
from  the  Foreign  Office  into  the  cool  wet  night. 
His  ears  were  tingling  with  the  sound  of  a  dry 
death-rattle,  and  he  was  afraid  to  continue  his 
work. 

Now  only  the  gods  know  by  whose  design  and 
intention  Haydon  had  slipped  from  the  dimly 
lighted  Umballa  platform  under  the  wheels  of  the 
mail  that  was  to  take  him  back  to  his  district; 
but  since  they  lifted  the  pestilence  on  his  death, 
we  may  assume  that  they  had  proved  their  au- 
thority over  the  minds  of  men,  and  found  one 
man  in  India  who  was  afraid  of  present  pain. 


BITTERS  NEAT 


BITTERS  NEAT 

THE  oldest  trouble  in  the  world  comes  from 
want  of  understanding.  And  it  is  entirely 
the  fault  of  the  woman.  Somehow,  she  is  built 
incapable  of  speaking  the  truth,  even  to  herself. 
She  only  finds  it  out  about  four  months  later, 
when  the  man  is  dead,  or  has  been  transferred. 
Then  she  says  she  never  was  so  happy  in  her 
life,  and  marries  some  one  else,  who  again 
touches  some  woman's  heart  elsewhere,  and  did 
not  know  it,  but  was  mixed  up  with  another 
man's  wife,  who  only  used  him  to  pique  a  third 
man.     And  so  round  again — all  criss-cross. 

Out  here,  where  life  goes  quicker  than  at 
Home,  things  are  more  obviously  tangled,  and 
therefore  more  pitiful  to  look  at.  Men  speak  the 
truth  as  they  understand  it,  and  women  as  they 
think  men  would  like  to  understand  it;  and  then 
they  all  act  lies  which  would  deceive  Solomon, 
and  the  result  is  a  heart-rending  muddle  that  half 
a  dozen  open  words  would  put  straight. 

This  particular  muddle  did  not  differ  from  any 
other  muddle  you  may  see,  if  you  are  not  busy 
playing  cross-purposes  yourself  going  on  in  a  big 
Station  any  cold  season.     Its  only  merit  was  that 

457 


458  Bitters  Neat 

it  did  not  come  all  right  in  the  end;  as  muddles 
are  made  to  do  in  the  third  volume. 

I've  forgotten  what  the  man  was — he  was  an 
ordinary  sort  of  man — 'man  you  meet  any  day  at 
the  A.-D.-C.'s  end  of  the  table,  and  go  away  and 
forget  about.  His  name  was  Surrey ;  but  whether 
he  was  in  the  Army  or  the  P.  W.  D.,  or  the  Com- 
missariat, or  the  Police,  or  a  factory,  I  don't  re- 
member. He  wasn't  a  Civilian.  He  was  just  an 
ordinary  man,  of  the  light-colored  variety,  with  a 
fair  moustache  and  with  the  average  amount  of 
pay  that  comes  between  twenty-seven  and  thirty- 
two — from  six  to  nine  hundred  a  month. 

He  didn't  dance,  and  he  did  what  little  riding 
he  wanted  to  do  by  himself,  and  was  busy  in 
office  all  day,  and  never  bothered  his  head  about 
women.  No  man  ever  dreamed  he  would.  He 
was  of  the  type  that  doesn't  marry,  just  because 
it  doesn't  think  about  marriage.  He  was  one  of 
the  plain  cards,  whose  only  use  is  to  make  up 
the  pack,  and  furnish  background  to  put  the 
Court  cards  against. 

Then  there  was  a  girl — ordinary  girl — the  dark- 
colored  variety — daughter  of  a  man  in  the  Army, 
who  played  a  little,  sang  a  little,  talked  a  little, 
and  furnished  the  background,  exactly  as  Surrey 
did.  She  had  been  sent  out  here  to  get  married 
if  she  could,  because  there  were  many  sisters  at 
Home,  and  Colonels'  allowances  aren't    elastic. 


Bitters  Neat  459 

She  lived  with  an  Aunt.  She  was  a  Miss  Tal- 
laght,  and  men  spelled  her  name  "Tart"  on  the 
programmes  when  they  couldn't  catch  what  the 
introducer  said. 

Surrey  and  she  were  thrown  together  in  the 
same  Station  one  cold  weather;  and  the  particu- 
lar Devil  who  looks  after  muddles  prompted  Miss 
Tallaght  to  fall  in  love  with  Surrey.  He  had 
spoken  to  her  perhaps  twenty  times— certainly  not 
more— but  she  fell  as  unreasonably  in  love  with 
him  as  if  she  had  been  Elaine  and  he  Lancelot. 

She,  of  course,  kept  her  own  counsel;  and, 
equally  of  course,  her  manner  to  Surrey,  who 
never  noticed  manner  or  style  or  dress  any  more 
than  he  noticed  a  sunset,  was  icy,  not  to  say  re- 
pliant. The  deadly  dullness  of  Surrey  struck 
her  as  reserve  of  force,  and  she  grew  to  believe 
he  was  wonderfully  clever  in  some  secret  and 
mysterious  sort  of  line.  She  did  not  know  what 
line;  but  she  believed,  and  that  was  enough. 
No  one  suspected  anything  of  any  kind,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  no  one  took  any  deep  interest 
in  Miss  Tallaght  except  her  Aunt;  who  wanted 
to  get  the  girl  off  her  hands. 

This  went  on  for  some  months,  till  a  man  sud- 
denly woke  up  to  the  fact  that  Miss  Tallaght  was 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him,  and  told 
her  so.  She  jawabed  him — without  rhyme  or 
reason;    and  that  night  there  followed  one   of 


460  Bitters  Neat 

those  awful  bedroom  conferences  th;it  nun  know 
nothing  about.  Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt,  querulous, 
indignant,  and  merciless,  with  her  mouth  full  of 
hairpins,  and  her  hands  full  of  false  hair-plaits, 
set  herself  to  find  out  by  cross-examination  what 
in  the  name  of  everything  wise,  prudent,  re- 
ligious and  dutiful,  Miss  Tallaght  meant  by 
jawabing  her  suitor.  The  conference  lasted  for 
an  hour  and  a  half,  with  question  on  question, 
insult  and  reminders  of  poverty — appeals  to  Provi- 
dence, then  a  fresh  mouthful  of  hairpins — then 
all  the  questions  over  again,  beginning  with:  — 

"But  what  do  you  see  to  dislike  in  Mr. ?" 

then,  a  vicious  tug  at  what  was  left  of  the  mane; 
then  impressive  warnings  and  more  appeals  to 
Heaven;  and  then  the  collapse  of  poor  Miss 
Tallaght.  a  rumpled,  crumpled,  tear-stained  ar- 
rangement in  white  on  the  couch  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  and,  between  sobs  and  gasps,  the  whole 
absurd  little  story  of  her  love  for  Surrey. 

Now,  in  all  the  forty-five  years'  experience  of 
Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt,  she  had  never  heard  of  a 
girl  throwing  over  a  real  genuine  lover  with  an 
appointment,  for  a  problematical,  hypothetical 
lover,  to  whom  she  had  spoken  merely  in  the 
course  of  the  ordinary  social  visiting  rounds. 
So  Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt  was  struck  dumb,  and, 
merely  praying  that  Heaven  might  direct  Miss 
Tallaght  into  a  better  frame  of  mind,  dismissed 


Bitters  Neat  461 

the  ayah,  and  went  to  bed;  leaving  Miss  Tallaght 
to  sob  and  moan  herself  to  sleep. 

Understand  clearly,  I  don't  for  a  moment  de- 
fend Miss  Tallaght.  She  was  wrong — absurdly 
wrong — but  attachments  like  hers  must  sprout 
by  the  law  of  averages,  just  to  remind  people 
that  Love  is  as  nakedly  unreasoning  as  when 
Venus  first  gave  him  his  kit  and  told  him  to  run 
away  and  play. 

Surrey  must  be  held  innocent — innocent  as  his 
own  pony.  Could  he  guess  that,  when  Miss 
Tallaght  was  as  curt  and  as  unpleasing  as  she 
knew  how,  she  would  have  risen  up  and  followed 
him  from  Colombo  to  Dadar  at  a  word?  He 
didn't  know  anything,  or  care  anything  about 
Miss  Tallaght.     He  had  his  work  to  do. 

Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt  might  have  respected 
her  niece's  secret.  But  she  didn't.  What  we 
call  "Talking  rank  scandal,"  she  called  "seeking 
advice";  and  she  sought  advice,  on  the  case  of 
Miss  Tallaght,  from  the  Judge's  wife  "in  strict 
confidence,  my  dear,"  who  told  the  Commis- 
sioner's wife,  "of  course  you  won't  repeat  it, 
my  dear,"  who  told  the  Deputy  Commissioner's 
wife,  "  you  understand  it  is  to  go  no  further,  my 
dear,"  who  told  the  newest  bride,  who  was  as 
delighted  at  being  in  possession  of  a  secret  con- 
cerning real  grown-up  men  and  women,  that  she 
told  any  one  and  every  one  who  called  on  her. 


462  Bitters  hi  cat 

So  the  tale  went  all  over  the  Station,  and  from 
being  no  one  in  particular,  Miss  Tallaght  came  to 
take  precedence  of  the  last  interesting  squabble 
between  the  Judge's  wife  and  the  Civil  Engineer's 
wife.  Then  began  a  really  interesting  system  of 
persecution  worked  by  women — soft  and  sympa- 
thetic and  intangible,  but  calculated  to  drive  a 
girl  off  her  head.  They  were  all  so  sorry  for 
Miss  Tallaght.  and  they  cooed  together  and  were 
exaggeratedly  kind  and  sweet  in  their  manner  to 
her,  as  those  who  said:  "  You  may  confide  in  us, 
my  stricken  deer!  " 

Miss  Tallaght  was  a  woman  and  sensitive.  It 
took  her  less  than  one  evening  at  the  Band  Stand 
to  find  that  her  poor  little,  precious  little  secret, 
that  had  been  wrenched  from  her  on  the  rack, 
was  known  as  widely  as  if  it  had  been  written 
on  her  hat.  I  don't  know  what  she  went  through. 
Women  don't  speak  of  these  things,  and  men 
ought  not  to  guess;  but  it  must  have  been  some 
specially  refined  torture,  for  she  told  her  Aunt 
she  would  go  Home  and  die  as  a  Governess 
sooner  than  stay  in  this  hateful— hateful— place. 
Her  Aunt  said  she  was  a  rebellious  girl,  and  sent 
her  Home  to  her  people  after  a  couple  of  months; 
and  said  no  one  knew  what  the  pains  of  a  chap- 
erone's  life  were. 

Poor  Miss  Tallaght  had  one  pleasure  just  at  the 
last.     Half  way   down    the    line,    she    caught   a 


Bitters  Neat  463 

glimpse  of  Surrey,  who  had  gone  down  on  duty, 
and  was  in  the  up-train.  And  he  took  off  his 
hat  to  her.  She  went  Home,  and  if  she  is  not 
dead  by  this  time  must  be  living  still. 

3|s  5|»  *J£  if*  *jfi  yjZ 

Months  afterward,  there  was  a  lively  dinner  at 
the  Club  for  the  Races.  Surrey  was  mooning 
about  as  usual,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  idle 
talk  flying  every  way.  Finally,  one  man,  who 
had  taken  more  than  was  good  for  him,  said, 
apropos  of  something  about  Surrey's  reserved 
ways, — "Ah,  you  old  fraud.  It's  all  very  well 
for  you  to  pretend.  I  know  a  girl  who  was  aw- 
f'ly  mashed  on  you — once.  Dead  nuts  she  was 
on  old  Surrey.     What  had  you  been  doing,  eh  ?" 

Surrey  expected  some  sort  of  sell,  and  said 
with  a  laugh: 

"Who  was  she?" 

Before  any  one  could  kick  the  man,  he  plumped 
out  with  the  name;  and  the  Honorary  Secretary 
tactfully  upset  the  half  of  a  big  brew  of  shandy- 
gaff all  over  the  table.  After  the  mopping  up, 
the  men  went  out  to  the  Lotteries. 

But  Surrey  sat  on,  and,  after  ten  minutes,  said 
very  humbly  to  the  only  other  man  in  the  de- 
serted dining-room:  "On  your  honor,  was  there 
a  word  of  truth  in  what  the  drunken  fool  said  ?" 

Then  the  man  who  is  writing  this  story,  who 


464  Bitters  Neat 

had  known  of  the  thing  from  the  beginning,  and 
now  felt  all  the  hopelessness  and  tangle  of  it — 
the  waste  and  the  muddle — said,  a  good  deal 
more  energetically  than  he  meant: 

"Truth!     O  man,  man,  couldn't  you  see  it?" 

Surrey  said  nothing,  but  sat  still,  smoking  and 
smoking  and  thinking,  while  the  Lottery  tent 
babbled  outside,  and  the  khittnutgars  turned 
down  the  lamps. 

To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief  that 
was  the  first  thing  Surrey  ever  knew  about  love. 
But  his  awakening  did  not  seem  to  delight  him. 
It  must  have  been  rather  unpleasant,  to  judge  by 
the  look  on  his  face.  He  looked  like  a  man  who 
had  missed  a  train  and  had  been  half  stunned  at 
the  same  time. 

When  the  men  came  in  from  the  Lotteries, 
Surrey  went  out.  He  wasn't  in  the  mood  for 
bones  and  "horse"  talk.  He  went  to  his  tent, 
and  the  last  thing  he  said,  quite  aloud  to  himself, 
was:  "I  didn't  see.  I  didn't  see.  If  I  had  only 
known! " 

Even  if  he  had  known  I  don't  believe    .     .     . 

But  these  things  are  kismet,  and  we  only  find 
out  all  about  them  just  when  any  knowledge  is 
too  late. 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 

SO  long  as  the  "  Inextinguishables  "  confined 
themselves  to  running  picnics,  gymkhanas, 
flirtations  and  innocences  of  that  kind,  no  one 
said  anything.  But  when  they  ran  ghosts,  peo- 
ple put  up  their  eyebrows.  'Man  can't  feel  comfy 
with  a  regiment  that  entertains  ghosts  on  its  es- 
tablishment. It  is  against  General  Orders.  The 
"  Inextinguishables "  said  that  the  ghosts  were 
private  and  not  Regimental  property.  They  re- 
ferred you  to  Tesser  for  particulars;  and  Tesser 
told  you  to  go  to — the  hottest  cantonment  of  all. 
He  said  that  it  was  bad  enough  to  have  men 
making  hay  of  his  bedding  and  breaking  his 
banjo-strings  when  he  was  out,  without  being 
chaffed  afterward;  and  he  would  thank  you  to 
keep  your  remarks  on  ghosts  to  yourself.  This 
was  before  the  "Inextinguishables"  had  sworn 
by  their  several  lady  loves  that  they  were  in- 
nocent of  any  intrusion  into  Tesser's  quarters. 
Then  Horrocks  mentioned  casually  at  Mess,  that 
a  couple  of  white  figures  had  been  bounding 
about  his  room  the  night  before,  and  he  didn't 
approve  of  it.  The  "  Inextinguishables  "  denied, 
energetically,  that  they  had  had  any  hand  in  the 

467 


468  Haunted  Subalterns 

manifestations,  and  advised  Horrocks  to  consult 
Tesser. 

I  don't  suppose  that  a  Subaltern  believes  in 
anything  except  his  chances  of  a  Company;  but 
Horrocks  and  Tesser  were  exceptions.  They 
came  to  believe  in  their  ghosts.    They  had  reason. 

Horrocks  used  to  find  himself,  at  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  staring  wide-awake, 
watching  two  white  Things  hopping  about  his 
room  and  jumping  up  to  the  ceiling.  Horrocks 
was  of  a  placid  turn  of  mind.  After  a  week  or 
so  spent  in  watching  his  servants,  and  lying  in 
wait  for  strangers,  and  trying  to  keep  awake  all 
night,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was 
haunted,  and  that,  consequently,  he  need  not 
bother.  He  wasn't  going  to  encourage  these 
ghosts  by  being  frightened  of  them.  Therefore, 
when  he  awoke — as  usual — with  a  start  and  saw 
these  Things  jumping  like  kangaroos,  he  only 
murmured:  "Go  on!  Don't  mind  me!"  and 
went  to  sleep  again. 

Tesser  said:  "It's  all  very  well  for  you  to 
make  fun  of  your  show.  You  can  see  your 
ghosts.  Now  I  can't  see  mine,  and  I  don't  half 
like  it." 

Tesser  used  to  come  into  his  room  of  nights, 
and  find  the  whole  of  his  bedding  neatly  stripped, 
as  if  it  had  been  done  with  one  sweep  of  the 
hand,    from    the   top    right-hand    corner   of   the 


Haunted  Subalterns  469 

charpoy  to  the  bottom  left-hand  corner.  Also 
his  lamp  used  to  lie  weltering  on  the  floor,  and 
generally  his  pet  screw-head,  inlaid,  nickel-plated 
banjo  was  lying  on  the  charpoy,  with  all  its 
strings  broken.  Tesser  took  away  the  strings 
on  the  occasion  of  the  third  manifestation,  and 
the  next  night  a  man  complimented  him  on  his 
playing  the  best  music  ever  got  out  of  a  banjo, 
for  half  an  hour. 

"Which  half  hour?"  said  Tesser. 

"  Between  nine  and  ten,"  said  the  man.  Tes- 
ser had  gone  out  to  dinner  at  7:30  and  had  re- 
turned at  midnight. 

He  talked  to  his  bearer  and  threatened  him 
with  unspeakable  things.  The  bearer  was  grey 
with  fear:  "  I'm  a  poor  man,"  said  he.  "  If  the 
Sahib  is  haunted  by  a  Devil,  what  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Who  says  I'm  haunted  by  a  Devil  ?  "  howled 
Tesser,  for  he  was  angry. 

"I  have  seen  It,"  said  the  bearer,  "at  night, 
walking  round  and  round  your  bed;  and  that  is 
why  everything  is  ulta-pulta  in  your  room.  I  am 
a  poor  man,  but  I  never  go  into  your  room  alone. 
The  bhisti  comes  with  me." 

Tesser  was  thoroughly  savage  at  this,  and  he 
spoke  to  Horrocks,  and  the  two  laid  traps  to 
catch  that  Devil,  and  threatened  their  servants 
with  dog-whips  if  any  more  "  shaitan-ke-hanky- 
panky"   took    place.     But    the    servants    were 


47°  Haunted  Subalterns 

soaked  with  fear,  and  it  was  no  use  adding 
to  their  tortures.  When  Tesser  went  out  for  a 
night,  four  of  his  men,  as  a  rule,  slept  in  the 
veranda  of  his  quarters,  until  the  banjo  without 
the  strings  struck  up,  and  then  they  fled. 

One  day,  Tesser  had  to  put  in  a  month  at  a 
Fort  with  a  detachment  of  "  Inextinguishables." 
The  Fort  might  have  been  Govindghar,  Jumrood 
or  Phillour;  but  it  wasn't.  He  left  Cantonments 
rejoicing,  for  his  Devil  was  preying  on  his  mind; 
and  with  him  went  another  Subaltern,  a  junior. 
But  the  Devil  came  too.  After  Tesser  had  been 
in  the  Fort  about  ten  days  he  went  out  to  dinner. 
When  he  came  back  he  found  his  Subaltern  do- 
ing sentry  on  a  banquette  across  the  Fort  Ditch, 
as  far  removed  as  might  be  from  the  Officers' 
Quarters. 

"What's  wrong?"  said  Tesser. 

The  Subaltern  said,  "Listen!"  and  the  two, 
standing  under  the  stars  heard  from  the  Officers' 
Quarters,  high  up  in  the  wall  of  the  Fort,  the 
"  strumty,  tumty,  tumty  "  of  the  banjo;  which 
seemed  to  have  an  oratorio  on  hand. 

"That  performance."  said  the  Subaltern,  "has 
been  going  on  for  three  mortal  hours.  I  never 
wished  to  desert  before,  but  I  do  now.  I  say, 
Tesser,  old  man,  you  are  the  best  of  good  fellows, 
I'm  sure,  but  ...  I  say  .  .  .  look  here, 
now,  you  are  quite  unfit  to  live  with.     'Tisn't  in 


Haunted  Subalterns  471 

my  Commission,  you  know,  that  I'm  to  serve 
under  a    .     .     .     a    .     .     .     man  with  Devils." 

"  Isn't  it  ?"  said  Tesser.  "  If  you  make  an  ass 
of  yourself  I'll  put  you  under  arrest  .  .  . 
and  in  my  room!  " 

"You  can  put  me  where  you  please,  but  I'm 
not  going  to  assist  at  these  infernal  concerts. 
Tisn't  right.  Tisn't  natural.  Look  here,  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but — try  to  think  now 
— haven't  you  done  something — committed  some 
— murder  that  has  slipped  your  memory — or 
forged  something    .     .     .     ?" 

"  Well !  For  an  all-round,  double-shotted,  half- 
baked  fool  you  are  the    .     .     ." 

"I  dare  say  !  am,"  said  the  Subaltern.  "But 
you  don't  expect  me  to  keep  my  wits  with  that 
row  going  on,  do  you  ?  " 

The  banjo  was  rattling  away  as  if  it  had  twenty 
strings.  Tesser  sent  up  a  stone,  and  a  shower 
of  broken  window-pane  fell  into  the  Fort  Ditch; 
but  the  banjo  kept  on.  Tesser  hauled  the  other 
Subaltern  up  to  the  quarters,  and  found  his  room 
in  frightful  confusion — lamp  upset,  bedding  all 
over  the  floor,  chairs  overturned  and  table  tilted 
side-ways.  He  took  stock  of  the  wreck  and  said 
despairingly:    "Oh,  this  is  lovely!" 

The  Subaltern  was  peeping  in  at  the  door. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so,"  he  said.  "Tisn't 
lovely  enough  for  me.     I  locked  up  your  room 


472  Haunted  Subalterns 

directly  after  you  had  gone  out.  See  here,  I 
think  you'd  better  apply  for  Horrocks  to  come 
out  in  my  place.  He's  troubled  with  your  com- 
plaint, and  this  business  will  make  me  a  jabber- 
ing idiot  if  it  goes  on." 

Tesser  went  to  bed  amid  the  wreckage,  very 
angry,  and  next  morning  he  rode  into  Canton- 
ments and  asked  Horrocks  to  arrange  to  relieve 
"that  fool  with  me  now." 

"You've  got  'em  again,  have  you?"  said  Hor- 
rocks. "So'vel.  Three  white  figures  this  time. 
We'll  worry  through  the  entertainment  together." 

So  Horrocks  and  Tesser  settled  down  in  the 
Fort  together,  and  the  "  Inextinguishables  "  said 
pleasant  things  about  "seven  other  Devils." 
Tesser  didn't  see  where  the  joke  came  in.  His 
room  was  thrown  upside  down  three  nights  out 
of  the  seven.  Horrocks  was  not  troubled  in  any 
way,  so  his  ghosts  must  have  been  purely  local 
ones.  Tesser,  on  the  other  hand,  was  personally 
haunted;  for  his  Devil  had  moved  with  him  from 
Cantonments  to  the  Fort.  Those  two  boys  spent 
three  parts  of  their  time  trying  to  find  out  who 
was  responsible  for  the  riot  in  Tesser's  rooms. 
At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  they  tried  to  find  out 
what  was  responsible;  and  seven  days  later  they 
gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job.  Whatever  It  was,  It  re- 
fused to  be  caught;  even  when  Tesser  went  out 
of    the    Fort   ostentatiously,    and    Horrocks   lav 


Haunted  Subalterns  473 

under  Tesser's  charpoy  with  a  revolver.  The 
servants  were  afraid — more  afraid  than  ever — 
and  all  the  evidence  showed  that  they  had  been 
playing  no  tricks.  As  Tesser  said  to  Horrocks: 
"A  haunted  Subaltern  is  a  joke,  but  s'pose  this 
keeps  on.  Just  think  what  a  haunted  Colonel 
would  be!  And,  look  here — s'pose  1  marry!  D' 
you  s'pose  a  girl  would  live  a  week  with  me  and 
this  Devil  ?  " 

"1  don't  know,"  said  Horrocks.  "I  haven't 
married  often;  but  I  knew  a  woman  once  who 
lived  with  her  husband  when  he  had  D.  T. 
He's  dead  now  and  I  dare  say  she  would  marry 
you  if  you  asked  her.  She  isn't  exactly  a  girl 
though,  but  she  has  a  large  experience  of  the 
other  devils — the  blue  variety.  She's  a  Govern- 
ment pensioner  now,  and  you  might  write,  y' 
know.  Personally,  if  I  hadn't  suffered  from 
ghosts  of  my  own,  I  should  rather  avoid  you." 

"That's  just  the  point,"  said  Tesser.  "This 
Devil  will  end  in  getting  me  budnamed,  and  you 
know  I've  lived  on  lemon-squashes  and  gone  to 
bed  at  ten  for  weeks  past." 

" 'Tisn't  that  sort  of  Devil,"  said  Horrocks. 
"  It's  either  a  first-class  fraud  for  which  some  one 
ought  to  be  killed  or  else  you've  offended  one  of 
these  Indian  Devils.  It  stands  to  reason  that  such 
a  beastly  country  should  *be  full  of  fiends  of  all 
sorts." 


474  Haunted  Subalterns 

"  But  why  should  the  creature  fix  on  me,"  said 
Tesser,  "and  why  won't  he  show  himself  and 
have  it  out  like  a — like  a  Devil  ?" 

They  were  talking  outside  the  Mess  after  dark, 
and,  even  as  they  spoke,  they  heard  the  banjo  be- 
gin to  play  in  Tesser's  room,  about  twenty  yards 
off. 

Horrocks  ran  to  his  own  quarters  for  a  shot- 
gun and  a  revolver,  and  Tesser  and  he  crept  up 
quietly,  the  banjo  still  playing,  to  Tesser's  door. 

"Now  we've  got  It!"  said  Horrocks,  as  he 
threw  the  door  open  and  let  fly  with  the  twelve- 
bore;  Tesser  squibbing  off  all  six  barrels  into  the 
dark,  as  hard  as  he  could  pull  the  trigger. 

The  furniture  was  ruined,  and  the  whole  Fort 
was  awake;  but  that  was  all.  No  one  had  been 
killed  and  the  banjo  was  lying  on  the  disheveled 
bedclothes  as  usual. 

Then  Tesser  sat  down  in  the  veranda,  and  used 
language  that  would  have  qualified  him  for  the 
companionship  of  unlimited  Devils.  Horrocks 
said  things  too;  but  Tesser  said  the  worst. 

When  the  month  in  the  Fort  came  to  an  end, 
both  Horrocks  and  Tesser  were  glad.  They  held 
a  final  council  of  war,  but  came  to  no  conclu- 
sion. 

"  'Seems  to  me,  your  best  plan  would  be  to  make 
your  Devil  stretch  himself.  Go  down  to  Bombay 
with  the  time-expired  men,"  said  Horrocks.     "If 


Haunted  Subalterns  475 

he  really  is  a  Devil,  he'll  come  in  the  train  with 
you." 

"Tisn't  good  enough,"  said  Tesser.  "Bom- 
bay's no  fit  place  to  live  in  at  this  time  of  the 
year.  But  I'll  put  in  for  Depot  duty  at  the 
Hills."    And  he  did. 

Now  here  the  tale  rests.  The  Devil  stayed  be- 
low, and  Tesser  went  up  and  was  free.  If  I  had 
invented  this  story,  I  should  have  put  in  a  satis- 
factory ending — explained  the  manifestations  as 
somebody's  practical  joke.  My  business  being  to 
keep  facts,  I  can  only  say  what  I  have  said.  The 
Devil  may  have  been  a  hoax.  If  so,  it  was  one 
of  the  best  ever  arranged.  If  it  was  not  a  hoax 
.    .    .     but  you  must  settle  that  for  yourselves. 


AA      000  251947 


